Worlds Apart
by GallifreyGal
Summary: For the Avengers of Earth 3490, another team of Avengers getting shoved in their midst by way of mysterious cosmic cube portal is really just another (stupid) Tuesday. For the Avengers of Earth 199999, it's a little more surprising than that-and it only gets more surprising when they find that the (very female) Director Tony Stark of SHIELD is married to Commander Steven Rogers.
1. Super Secret Boy Band

**FULL SUMMARY: **

For the Avengers of Earth 3490, another team of Avengers getting shoved in their midst by way of mysterious cosmic cube portal is really just another (stupid) Tuesday. For the Avengers of Earth 199999, it's a little more surprising than that-and it only gets more surprising when they find that the (very female) Director Tony Stark of SHIELD is married to Commander Steven Rogers (with children). Stuck in a strange universe while both worlds work to figure out why 199999 was sent there, the MCU Avengers are sucked into a life of domesticity and family drama, of bickering at the breakfast table and making up in time for dinner and a squid attack on Tokyo. Things seem like they will be relatively quiet until the MCU Avengers can finally return to their home world.

Or at least they did before the explosion.

**A/N:** This story contains underage substance abuse, past alcohol abuse/alcoholism, and character death. This is essentially the literary equivalent of a soap opera. I realize that Earth 3490 names the Iron Woman as "Natasha Stark" but here I have restored her name to "Tony" both to drive home the connection to her MCU male counterpart and also because frankly three "Natasha"s makes one too many "Natasha"s for me to handle in one story. Though we have little information about Earth 3490, I also assume Natasha and Steve have no children, so that is yet another element that makes me label this as 3490-ish. Essentially, 3490 with creative license. ALMOST 3490. I hope you all enjoy the story despite my extensive creative license on the 3490 universe.

* * *

If anybody asked, the Avengers got along _great_. They were all super enthusiastic about their teammates. They had a _bond_, the bond of comrades-in-arms, something deeper than brothers (and a sister). If anybody asked, the Avengers were doing great. And really, if anybody saw them work, they were…_mostly_ doing great. Mostly.

"Stark, what the _hell_ are you doing?" Cap demanded through the comm. What Tony was currently doing was, bluntly, disobeying direct orders. As Tony did rather frequently. To be totally fair, he had a perfectly legitimate reason for disobeying orders, but he didn't exactly have time to stop and explain the details to the good, science-deficient Captain.

"Stuff. Things. Take a chill pill Cap, I hear you're good at that," he said, flying straight towards the alien portal device. Shiny.

"_Stark_. _Disengage_," Captain America ordered through the comm. Stark could still see him and the others fighting aliens on the ground. No one seemed overly concerned about the spacey portal being opened not far above them.

"I'm not flying into the void, Capsicle," Tony said. He was rolling his eyes and it was a shame the Captain could not see the degree of his exasperation. His exasperation level was at like, a thousand at least. They'd been fighting these aliens for quite some time now, and that portal wasn't getting any smaller. "I'm shutting it down."

"We don't know _how_!" Steve argued.

"No, we _didn't_ know how, but I'm pretty sure I've got it figured out now I've got a better look at it. Cover me!" Tony said. He landed by the shiny metal machine. Instantly two aliens were on him, but he took them out with a couple of repulsor blasts—easy. He had to concentrate now, though, so hopefully Cap would take that last request to heart.

"Widow, Hawkeye, Thor, Hulk, hold position I'm going to go cover shellhead," Cap said over the comm. Tony lifted the faceplate on the suit and started removing the gauntlets—he wouldn't be able to do the work he needed with them on. Just as they were off, an alien landed on the roof next to him.

Ok, bad timing.

Most of Tony's weapons were kaput now after the lengthy battle—repulsors were pretty much all he had left. He scrambled for a gauntlet as the alien advanced—it was green and it talked and that was all Tony really understood—and Tony backed away. But just as he was thinking he was cornered and he wasn't going to connect the gauntlet in time, he heard a _zing_. The alien was hit right in the stomach with a shield of red, white, and blue. Steve appeared on the roof just behind Tony, popping up over the side just in time to catch the shield which inexplicably boomeranged back to him.

"I'm pretty sure you're defying the laws of physics right now and it makes me angry," Tony informed him. He headed back to the machine and used the one weapon he had reserved for this—a lower power laser. He started dismantling the outer casing of the machine. Cap just crossed his arms.

"Hello to you too," he said. "And physics defying or not—I strongly think _not_ because super soldier I may be but I don't think even _Thor_ actually actively defies the laws of physics—you should be just be happy that it _worked_."

"Uh-huh, whatever, just play lookout for a minute," Tony said, looking over the insides. He saw a tell-tale blue and something in the pit of his stomach dropped. _Gotcha_. But he kind of wished he didn't.

"I'm sorry, I thought _I_ was Captain," Cap said.

"You going to make a different call? Cool, yeah, leave me here vulnerable and kill your best shot of taking apart this machine," Tony said sarcastically. "Now get over here for a second, I need your—oh." Tony would have to wait a moment for the Captain's assistant. He was a bit busy smashing a hoard of six or seven green troll-alien things with his shield.

The green meanies had presented them with a whole _new_ conundrum. No one had felt particularly bad about killing off the Chitauri—how sentient _were_ they, after all? Once they'd taken out the mothership, they'd all collapsed on the ground like something out of _Phantom Menace_—they might have been living, but were they separate, sentient beings? But these green guys—Thor had called them _Kree_—were clearly sentient beings. They could speak _English_ for Odin's sake. It was a little more difficult to go around smashing them into the ground. Cap, for his part, didn't seem to have that many qualms though. Hey, Tony figured, all's fair in love and war and this was probably war. One of the Kree had mentioned something about 'taking over' and 'extermination of inferior species' so Tony figured that was probably _war._ And it was definitely a setting ol' Capsicle was used to.

Tony put a gauntlet back on, but before he could do anything to help the Captain, Thor flew overhead and took out a couple with lightning before flying off again. That was all the assistance Captain America needed. He'd made pretty quick work of those aliens.

"Ok, yeah, very impressive and all—get over here quick I need your hand," Tony said. The Captain frowned.

"My hand?" he asked suspiciously.

"I should mention this is not a ritual sacrifice, _yes,_ your hand get over here," Tony said. He pulled Cap down to his level—Thor appeared to be making passes overhead, taking out anything that dared to get up on the roof. "See that shiny blue thing? Your gloves will provide more protection against that thing than my gauntlets will. Probably. I need your gloves to grab it with. Just rip it out."

"What happens when you rip out the shiny blue thing?" Cap asked, and even though he wore his cowl, Tony could see his raised eyebrows in the widened expression of his eyes.

"Either that portal disappears or we explode or both," Tony informed him.

"Got a calculation of odds for me, Iron Man?" Cap asked seriously.

"15% chance we explode, 75% chance the portal disappears, 10% chance it's both. So, a one in four bet that we explode, and an 85% chance the portal closes," Tony said. "But the explosion won't be nuclear and should be limited to this building and the area immediately surrounding us—maybe a hundred feet out from this building max."

"And it's been evacuated," Cap said. He looked at the innards of the machine hard.

"It's our best shot, Captain," Tony said apologetically. "This tech—look, I'm a genius but I can't hack it. Better to just shut off the power supply. It would take me days, weeks, years—hell I don't even know—to crack it, and if we can't shut that portal—"

"No, you're right," Cap said. "Get off the roof, Iron Man, and tell me when you're clear a hundred feet or more."

"What?" Tony asked.

"_Clear the area_," the Captain repeated emphatically. "Get off the roof."

"But—no—but, wait, I'm supposed to—" Tony protested.

"You got a thing about killing yourself to close portals?" the Captain demanded. "Supersoldier. With a vibranium shield. I've got the best chance of surviving an explosion this close. Get off the roof, Iron Man, and that's an _order_."

"But—" Tony continued to protest, though he wasn't wholly certain why. His gut squirmed. Steve's argument made sense. It did. But. The idea of it made him uneasy.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this," the Captain snapped. He grabbed Tony. Tony was too surprised to do anything as the Captain picked him up, suit and all, and physically _threw him off the roof_.

His brain started working again at some point, and he managed to pilot the Iron Man again, stabilizing in the air and managing to pull up before he made a big Tony Pancake on the ground. Tony was definitely not a flavor of pancake he ever wanted to taste. He preferred blueberry.

Just as he righted himself, the portal winked out of existence. No explosion. Tony sighed in relief. His heart, still thrumming like crazy from adrenaline, released a little tension. He landed back on the roof. Cap was still kneeling, staring with a troubled expression at the tiny blue cube in his hand. It looked like a miniaturized tesseract.

"It's always this thing isn't it?" Cap asked. "Always that damn blue glow." He stood.

"Did you seriously just throw me off the roof?" Tony asked.

"Yeah well, you can fly shellhead."

"Rude."


	2. Agent 81

He couldn't lie, even if he'd done it for the right reasons and _shouldn't_ have enjoyed it, in retrospect it was kind of entertaining, throwing Tony Stark off a roof. He'd have to try it more often, whenever Stark got his blood pressure up. After closing the portal, the avengers still had the Kree to deal with—though it was a relief that they could no longer call for immediate back up. Many of them retreated, leaving on the spaceships they'd flown through the portal with. That was fine with Steve, though he eyed the sky warily, hoping they wouldn't be back anytime soon.

After a shower and some food, Steve headed to the conference room for a debrief with Fury. He found Tony as he was headed down there, and he couldn't help but frown at the other man a bit. He was always taking unnecessary risks and not following orders and _arguing_ with him and frankly in a battle situation Steve was not used to anyone talking _back_ to him. Input was great, input was useful—arguments rarely were. Tony, of course, did not take kindly to his frown.

"What? _What_ Capsicle, what did I do now?" Tony asked. Steve hated that nickname.

"It's just—out there today—Tony, I need to trust that you can follow orders," Steve said as they walked. "Especially given that our jobs are often highly _time sensitive_. Look, you're not a soldier, and I get that. This isn't what you're used to. But it's what you signed up for. I need to trust that you can follow my lead even when I'm doing something that maybe you don't personally like."

"Oh, like potentially sacrificing your life for the greater good?" Tony asked.

"Yes, exactly that," Steve said, entirely genuine.

"Well, let me ask you this Cap—if you had died on that roof, who would lead this damn team?" Tony asked.

"Natasha," Steve said automatically.

"Ok, scary thought. Look, Natasha is fantastically efficient. She has a great mind for tactics. She knows what she's doing and I'm _sure_ she'd be happy to order us all around but she's no _Captain America_," Tony pointed out. They were almost to the conference room.

"Yeah? And what the hell would the team do without your tech innovations? What would the team do if we were four on the ground and only _one_ in the sky? I had the best chance of living through that blast, anyway—and I need to know that you'll _trust_ my calls so I don't _have_ to throw you off of rooftops. As fun as that was," Steve said. Tony snorted.

"I knew you just did that because you _wanted_ to—"

"No, Tony, I did that because you gave me no _choice_," Steve said as they entered the conference room. Everyone was already there, which didn't surprise Steve. Clint and Natasha were always quick with showers and changing and never took long to eat, either. Bruce was _still_ eating, and his vegetarian curry smelled delicious. Thor was dressed down in casual clothes which, even after all this time, discomfited Steve slightly. He could never get the image of Thor in his armor and red cape reconciled with this regular (if buff) guy in jeans with his hair pulled back in a ponytail. While the avengers had reverted to their street clothes, Fury, Hill, and Coulson were still very, very formal, to no one's surprise. What _did_ surprise Steve was the fact that Pepper Potts and Jane Foster were present in the meeting.

"No choice, huh?"

"No! None! You would have kept arguing with me and we didn't have time for that, and I need to _know_ you're going to be reliable in the field, Tony, because seconds can _cost lives_," Steve said. Tony gave him a hard look.

"Bad calls can cost lives. You acting like you know what's best when really you're just fumbling around out there like the rest of us—"

"How was I ever _fumbling_, Stark—"

"Oh, last names again, I see how it is—you know, you're _always_ fumbling, you don't know_ anything_ about the science, and personally _I_ didn't have time to _explain_ it to you in the midst of battle—"

"How the hell does 'I'm going to rip out the battery' take more than three seconds to explain? You could have told me that instead of flying off dramatically—"

"_Dramatically_? Excuse me, it was the _middle of a battle_ everything looks pretty damn dramatic—"

"Stark! Rogers! Shut up and _sit down_ so we can get this meeting on the _road_," Fury snapped. Steve did shut up, but he frowned and crossed his arms and chose to stay standing instead, just Fury, Hill, and Coulson were. Tony didn't mind just rolling his eyes and taking a seat by Pepper Potts.

"Why are _you _here? Have you been making a suit in your ample down time?" Tony asked her.

"Potts and Foster are here because certain members of this team cannot keep their goddamn mouths shut anyway," Fury said, "and I would rather they get information first hand. In addition I think Doctor Foster might be able to assist us in our investigation into the cube's origin."

"Yeah, what's up with that thing anyway?" Tony asked. "I thought point break took the big bad glowy stuff back to Asgard and locked it away?"

"I did," Thor said in his voice that boomed no matter at what volume he spoke. "The tesseract is still on Asgard."

"Then what _is_ it? Where did it come from? How did the _kree_ get hold of it? And _why_?" Steve asked.

"I do not know," Thor said. "The cube's presence troubles me. I have not seen its like nor know its name. The tesseract is the only similar energy source I am aware of." Steve figured that was not a good sign.

"It _is_ an energy source, right?" Clint asked.

"What else would it be?" Steve asked. "It was powering that device."

"Well…shot in the dark here but, what if it wasn't _powering_ the device. What if it _was_ the device? What if the machine was just…channeling it? What if that's all it does—open portals to things?" Clint suggested.

"We won't know until we have our people take a closer look at it," Fury said. "Which we are doing. But for now—Agent 81, you are _not cleared_ to be in here." Fury had rounded on a young agent who had wandered in, looking a bit dazed. He just stared at Fury. "Did you _hear me_, eighty-one?" The boy's expression was slack, and a bad feeling was beginning to grip Steve's stomach. Acting on instinct, he moved towards the young man. Agent 81 held out his hand—the little blue cube was at the center. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of blue light taking over the whole room, a horrible, sickening feeling like Steve was being squeezed through a soda can, and then—

Then, they were on the helicarrier. And every single agent had a gun trained right on them.


	3. Fucking Tuesdays

Tony would have liked to have described the hum of the helicarrier as quiet and soothing as that was what she wished it was, but the hum of the helicarrier was actually quite loud when one stood on the top of the upper deck during take off. The propellers labored audibly, slicing through the air with a whistle and working to spray the water out of the works. Tony did not prefer to be on the ocean. Sure, the helicarrier was made for it, but she was _meant _for the sky. As the ship lifted in the air, Tony headed to the enclosed spiral staircase that led to the command deck. If she wasn't flying this thing, she would at least be commanding it.

_Commanding_. It still felt so new to her. Fury had been MIA for a year now, but Tony still wasn't used to being called _Director Stark_. It seemed too ridiculous for words sometimes. Then again, her entire life seemed too ridiculous for words a lot of the time. Tony walked out onto the command deck, nodding to a few important agents in acknowledgment as she approached the center. The deck was buzzing with activity, though it was much quieter than the propellers outside. Tony was happy to admit that, even after all these years, she was impressed with her own design on the inside of the Helicarrier as well as the outside. Old technology had since been replaced, the basic structure was still there. It looked rather Stark Trek to Tony—only _bigger_. Bigger was better, after all. The whole deck was filled with the clear tablets of Tony's design, and thirty or forty people were on this deck alone, all typing away busily or monitoring screens. Even after a year, and even after _designing_ the helicarrier, Tony only knew what about fifteen of them actually did. Sometimes she wondered if Hill had hired the rest for aesthetics. Tony approached the central controls, quickly glancing over the basic stats of the ship before looking out the vast glass windows before her. The sun was setting, throwing a beautiful orange and pink hue over the whole of the glittering ocean. Tony wasn't one to wax poetic, but she _did_ appreciate the aesthetic.

An intern—was it Emma? Mary? Well, she was a skinny little redhead that reminded Tony of Pepper, anyway—set Tony's coffee on the small table beside her. Mary or Emma or whomever she was learned well and quickly. Tony picked up the coffee and took a sip. She couldn't remember when it was that she had last slept. It felt like a long time ago. Steve wouldn't have let her go more than two days without any, but Steve had been away on a mission for three weeks, to return this evening. Tony took another gulp of the drink—this must be day three, then. Luckily, the day had been relatively quiet. If this quick sweep over the Atlantic didn't yield any unusual data, then she'd be able to fly home for dinner. They had made reservations at one of Tony's favorite places.

Of course, things never worked out that way for Tony Stark. Knowing her luck, the ship would be dragged into the ocean by a Kraken before they got enough altitude.

"Director Stark?" Agent Matthews spoke from his station, his voice concerned but not laced with fear.

"Yes?" Tony prompted, walking over to his tablet in anticipation of such a request.

"I'm picking up some very odd readings—I've never seen this before," he said, turning the clear tablet towards her so that the readings appeared. As Tony looked them over, she felt a large twinge of annoyance and a smaller twinge of dread.

"Where are you picking these up from?" Tony asked. Agent Matthews pointed to the central console, where Tony had been standing just a minute before. Well, she was thrilled that she had moved.

"Do you know what it is, Director?" Agent Matthews inquired. Tony just sighed. She took another sip of coffee. She could see herself reflected in the glass of Matthews' monitor. Her long, wavy hair was down, as it rarely was. Her last hair tie had fallen off and she had been too lazy to get a replacement. Or maybe she had been too busy. She couldn't remember, but it didn't really matter. The point was, she even _looked_ like she could use a bit of sleep, which was unusual for her. It was difficult to look intimidating with your hair down and messy and slowly forming bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. Well, she'd just have to do her best.

"Unfortunately. Battle stations everyone, this is not a drill! Arms locked and ready on the central console. Do not engage until given the order," she called out. She saw a few puzzled glances, but no one ever disobeyed her outright. She looked at her watch. It would probably be only sixty seconds or so now. She could hear sounds of guns loading, of agents getting ready to engage with thin air at her order. Tony could never decide whether that power was awesome or terrifying. Steve would say both. Tony tended to agree. She was halfway done with her coffee now. She'd have to have Mary make her another cup. Scratch that, she'd need a full thermos. She wished she could make it Irish. There were thirty seconds left, tops. Tony could feel the tension in the room, and yet another odd feeling—confusion, probably. They didn't understand. Yet.

The air began to hum, like it was charging. That wasn't _exactly_ what was happening, but Tony figured it would be an apt enough description for the layman. Tony heard a few more guns get loaded. The console began to shake, and small items to rattle—pens vibrated on desks, coffee mugs began to slosh their contents—and then a bright blue light broke through the ceiling of the helicarrier, going straight through the central console. Tony closed her eyes as the light got too bright, and then, when she could sense that it was darker, she opened them again.

Now standing at the central console was Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, Maria Hill, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov, Thor, Jane Foster, Pepper Potts, and one other. Were it not for the final person, Tony might have thought that she had done her calculations wrong, that the energy had pulled people from different corners of the world—but the last person made it a dead giveaway that her calculations were indeed correct. Standing next to Clint was Tony Stark—only Tony Stark was a man. Tony, still standing next to Matthews' desk, drinking her coffee, raked her eyes over the man.

Well. At least she was handsome. Tony sighed and put down her coffee mug.

"It's Tuesday, isn't it?" Tony asked Matthews. Matthews nodded. "Of course it is. Goddamn Tuesdays. All right." Tony shifted her weight to take a more commanding stance as she addressed the strange Avengers (plus a couple). "State your designation or we'll assume that you're skrulls or some other as yet unidentified shapeshifters and vaporize you where you stand." The Other Avengers, as Tony decided to think of them temporarily, all looked quite puzzled. Perhaps, she figured, their aim was off. Perhaps they hadn't _meant_ to land directly in the middle of the SHIELD helicarrier. Or perhaps they had been aiming for another universe entirely—it wasn't like she was expecting visitors today. The Other Avengers just stared around blankly for a moment. Other Tony was the first to snap out of it and speak up.

"Is this new SHIELD tech?" Other Tony asked Other Nick Fury, who merely scowled at him, though Director Stark figured that was the permanent setting of Nick Fury's face in _every_ universe. "Are you working with someone else? Has someone mastered teleportation and _not told me_? That's more than rude, that's criminal. Can we go again? What's the password? 'Beam me up Scotty?'" An overeager shield agent shoved his gun closer to Other Tony's face. Director Stark would have said something, but frankly she was happy for any method that would get her home at a reasonable hour, and she knew herself well enough to know that Other Tony was likely to continue to make increasingly obscure pop culture references until someone answered his question.

"The director asked for _designation!_" the agent said.

"The _director_ is right here—is this one new, Fury? He's new, isn't he. Call off your dogs," Other Tony told Other Fury, shoving the gun away. The agent shoved it back. Tony couldn't remember the agent's name, but she'd have to remind him of his place and his conduct later. It was _her_ place to speak, after all, not his.

"These aren't my dogs, Tony," Other Fury said slowly. She could see his eye scanning the situation, and lingering on her. She kind of wished she'd had time to fix her hair. She couldn't look intimidating, so she settled for bored. Sometimes bored was intimidating, and Tony figured that this was one of those times. "Look around, you recognize anyone?" Other Tony looked around. His cocky stance shifted slightly, almost into a fighting stance.

"Just the extra Maria Hill with a gun pointed directly at my head," Other Tony replied, sounding as casual as possible. Tony knew that the tone was a bluff. Everyone knew and feared Maria's marksmanship skills. Other Maria looked rather startled upon seeing her double. Tony decided that she didn't have time to wait around for them to figure their situation out. They hadn't meant to land in this universe, that much was obvious.

"Hi! Hello!" Tony waved delicately, unable to hide the irritation from her voice. Things were moving too slowly for her taste. "Yes, _top dog_ would be me. Director would be _me_. Please state your designation."

"What do you mean, our designation?" This time it was Other Steve who spoke up. Tony turned her gaze to him. It was bizarre, seeing her husband but _not_ her husband. She could easily tell that it _wasn't_ him, even from a distance, though. To someone who didn't know Steve as well as she did, they were probably nearly identical, but she could see how much younger he looked, and how uncertain. He didn't yet have the air of command that he would grow into. It was strange that he didn't, though, as Other Tony appeared to be her own age.

"You know, this day was going so well. It was going so _quietly_. I thought I might actually get out of work on time today, that I might actually see my husband for dinner today, if you can believe that," Tony rolled her eyes, approaching the command center. "Hill, get me a blood kit from the med bay, and get me Banner, please. JARVIS put Richards on the line, on one of these four screens here." There was no way she would be home in time for dinner. She would be lucky if she was on time for _breakfast_. She'd have to text Steve when she got the chance to let him know the situation.

"Calling, Director," JARVIS' voice echoed through the room.

"So, if you don't know your designation, how in the hell did you end up here?" Tony asked, bringing up the universal database on the helicarrier. She hadn't come up with it on her own by any means—Reed had helped. He was crazy and half of his inventions blew up in his face, but occasionally he was useful. Bruce had also leant a hand, as had Jane Foster, and they had collaborated with their doubles in various other universes to come up with an algorithm for predicting the universe designation of a person based on enzymes in the blood which were specific to that particular space-time. It wasn't easy work, but the sooner that Tony knew their designation, the sooner she could send them on their way and out of her hair.

"Perhaps you could help us out a bit, ma'am," Steve said. He had on a smile that was probably supposed to look charming, but Tony could recognize it as tight around the edges. She thought it was interesting that he was still in the _ma'am_ stage. Her Steve still used the word occasionally, but certainly not with SHIELD agents. Maria Hill had educated him well. "Where is _here_ exactly?"

"Sure thing, sweet cheeks," Tony said as she brought up the known data. She didn't think this was any universe they already had a sample from, though. "_Here_ is presumably an alternate universe, unless you are actually the most incompetent skrulls I've ever met, and that's saying something. I'm operating under the generous presumption that you're just embarrassingly incompetent alts, instead."

"An alternate _universe_?" Pepper blurted out from the back.

"Oh, don't you fret, Miss Potts, once we figure out _which _universe you're from, we'll be able to send you back fairly promptly," Tony assured her. She thought it was best not to mention that the whole process could take up to a year depending on the precise situation at hand. It was fortunate that she had another brain of her own to pick, but she figured that Other Tony was at two disadvantages—one, that he obviously was as confused about what was going on as everyone else, which meant that she would have to explain basic theory to him before he was at all of use, and two, that he was a guy. It was an inherent disability in Tony's opinion.

"And 'we' is…" Pepper prompted.

"SHIELD, obviously. The Avengers. Our vast and unending network. Mostly _me_ though, if I'm being honest. This is Richards' specialty, to be sure, but he's a bit of a fuck-up, so I'll be overseeing your safe and swift return back to wherever the hell you came from. Now can anyone explain _how in the hell_ you got transported to an alternate universe? Any ideas?" Tony asked, feeling harangued. There was going to be a main dish of scallops, and a chocolate cake with a raspberry sauce that was to _die_ for, at the restaurant she'd made reservations at. Reservations which were for eight o'clock, which she would certainly miss. He'd been gone for _three weeks_, and she was going to have to cancel their dinner plans. _Fucking Tuesdays_.

"A man walked into the conference room. Agent 81. He had a tiny cube in his hand. There was a flash of light, and then we were here," Clint said. Of course it would be Clint to pipe up with the observation. Clint always had his eyes on everything. It was the quality she admired most about the man, above and beyond his marksmanship.

"Was the cube blue?" Tony asked, feeling like a doctor making a diagnosis.

"Yes. It resembled the Tesseract, but it was much smaller," Clint replied, demonstrating with his hands an estimation of the size.

"Cosmic cube. That'd do it," Tony said, frowning deeply in annoyance. Why had someone decided to disrupt her day like this? Now she had a full set of Other Avengers and various sidekicks—all potential threats—in the middle of her helicarrier. "Well, don't worry. As soon as I establish that you're actually alts and not woefully idiotic assassins, I'll transfer you to a more comfortable setting where you can wait until we fix this."

"Director, Doctor Richards could not be reached," JARVIS spoke. Tony felt her anger spike. No, she definitely wasn't going to make dinner. Obviously, this person from an alternate universe with a cosmic cube was out to ruin her night.

"Of course he couldn't be," she said venomously. Richards was never around when he was needed. He was always working in his laboratory, making failed experiments that Tony would inevitably have to clean up after with her team of either SHIELD agents or Avengers. The Fantastic Four were, in her opinion, rather incompetent. To be fair to them, though, they had only been in operation for two years as opposed to the Avengers' much more substantial twenty.

"Ma'am, seeing as you appear to recognize us, could we get your name?" Steve asked very politely. Steve was pretty much always polite.

"Sure thing, gorgeous," Tony said. She held up her hand, letting the Iron Man armor come up over the skin of her arm. She did so _adore_ extremis. "I am Director Tony Stark, aka Iron Man of the Avengers, Earth designation 3490."

Tony was very glad that her brain was essentially a computer because she definitely wanted to keep a picture of the looks on their faces. Tony resisted the overwhelming urge to laugh. Other Fury looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. Other Pepper's eyes had gone as wide as saucers. Other Natasha looked appraising, and Other Clint was grinning and hitting Other Tony on his shoulder. Other Tony for his part did nothing but stare. Other Coulson, as usual, looked blank faced and unsurprised. Tony retracted the armor back under her skin.

"So, you've never universe hopped before, huh?" Tony asked, approaching slowly. She heard a few more guns cock, preparing to protect her. She waved her hand, dismissing them, in annoyance. She was _Iron Man_. She could take care of herself. "It's a bit like a bad trip at first, but you get used to it."

"I'm sorry ma'am, did you say you're…Tony Stark?" Steve asked. He looked extremely confused. She winked at him.

"In the flesh, Captain. I'm assuming you're still Steve Rogers, yes?" Tony asked. Steve nodded in confirmation. He still looked like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. There was a tiny crinkle on his forehead between his eyebrows, and his features were slightly pinched together in concentration. It was adorable and sexy and _god_ she missed her husband. She turned her gaze to Other Tony instead and caught him staring at her chest. She flashed him a grin. "Yes, we make one sexy lady and one handsome man, don't we?" Other Tony laughed.

"Hang on, so, if we fucked, would that be sex or masturbation?" Other Tony asked. Other Pepper rolled her eyes in obvious exasperation. Tony smiled a bit and shrugged.

"I think my husband would say it's adultery either way, so it doesn't matter much," she replied. Other Tony's smile was wiped away in an instant, though Tony couldn't determine why. Commitment issues, perhaps? She didn't have time to speculate. She was distracted by the arrival of Maria Hill and the blood kit she had asked for. The Alts broke into their own conversations, to which Tony paid little attention. The other SHIELD agents would inform her if there was anything she needed to know about, and the general gist of what she half heard was simply along the lines of panicking over being in another universe (Pepper), calmly deciding that they should keep their cool and figure out what to do after having a better understanding of the situation (Steve and Coulson), and finding their doubles and having orgies (Clint and Other Tony). Jane and Thor were having a quiet conversation that Tony could not hear. Bruce and Fury were being relatively quiet, as was Natasha. Tony hated it when Natasha was quiet. It was never a good sign. She didn't like it when Bruce was, either.

"Banner was finishing an experiment but will be up shortly," Maria reported, putting the red plastic briefcase on a nearby table for Tony to pick up. Maria wasn't looking at Tony, however. Her eyes were locked on her white-faced double across the way.

"Thank you, Maria," Tony said. Maria nodded curtly and then walked away, presumably to complete more important tasks than fetching people and blood kits. Tony opened up the red box and fished out a needle and a tie. She turned to look at the incompetent set of Alts, none of whom seemed to have settled on what to do with themselves just yet. "All right, who wants to get stabbed in the arm in the name of science?" Tony set her gaze on Steve. "How about you? You've never seemed to have any qualms about that, Mister Nearly-Died-For-A-Government-Experiment-In-A-Basement-In-Brooklyn." Steve's jaw set and his eyes narrowed. He was obviously gearing up for a fight, and the hostility in his glare puzzled Tony.

"No," Steve said firmly. Tony blinked. It was strange, being so bluntly refused. Sure, she and _her_ Steve argued, but he never shut her down so quickly, or so firmly, or without explanation. Not for something as tiny as a blood sample.

"An aversion to needles seems strange with you," Tony settled on saying lightly to defuse the tension in the air. "Although it does make your backstory all the more impressive, all things considered. Do I have any volunteers, or will I just have to close my eyes and stab someone?"

"I'll do it," spoke a soft, easygoing voice from the back. It was Bruce, of course. In the name of science, Bruce would do anything.

"I would say that's perfect, but actually I can't use you, Doctor Banner. The gamma radiation in your cells throws off our data," Tony said apologetically. It could have been Tony's imagination, but she thought Other Bruce looked a touch disappointed. Perhaps it was because getting stabbed in the arm in the name of science was just yet another thing that he could not do because of the Hulk.

"Here, just take mine," Other Jane Foster spoke up, approaching Tony. She rolled up her long sleeve to allow Tony access. Other Jane looked very similar to Jane, Tony noted—except for the fact that she was at least fifteen years younger. Tony fastened the tie around Other Jane's arm, ever aware of Thor looming nearby and watching with a careful eye. "What do you need it for, anyway?"

"Mitochondrial DNA," Tony replied. She slipped the needle expertly into a vein and drew back the plunger. The syringe filled with dark red blood. "The results will be specific to your universe. Also one particular enzyme in the blood—that should be specific to your space-time as well. We'll pin point which universe you should be from in our classification system, and once we've done that we can start the process towards getting you home." _And out of my hair_, Tony thought privately. She wondered when she'd get a chance to send a text. She didn't want Steve to think she'd stood him up or forgotten. Tony removed the needle from Other Jane's arm, placing a cotton ball on the injection site and handing her a band-aid she could apply herself. She took the syringe in hand and looked at its contents. Well, at least it wasn't Skrull blood.

"Am I late to the party? I see the gang's all here," Bruce, 3490 Bruce, walked up the stairs to the control deck.

"It's not our gang, Bruce," Tony told him as she walked over to meet him. She nodded in the direction of his own double. Bruce blinked. Other Bruce stared.

"Well," said Bruce, "that's Tuesdays for you, isn't it?" Tony held out the syringe filled with blood and Bruce took it in his hand. He squinted his eyes and turned it so it caught the light differently. "Human for sure. Universe testing?" Tony nodded. "I'll be as quick as I can, but it will be a few hours at least." Bruce disappeared back down the stairs as quickly as he'd come, but that was Bruce for you. He was always in his lab. That left Tony with the incompetent Alts. She wondered whether it was worth making conversation or if she could just watch _Game of Thrones_ on one of the command computers. Most of them were unnecessary anyway. Alas, the choice was taken from her. Nick Fury spoke.

"Would you mind telling me in what fucked up universe are _you_ the Director?" he said. He seemed unsure as to whether he was addressing his own Tony, or Director Stark. Tony felt her hackles raise. He'd struck a bit of a nerve.

"One in which you went underground after launching an attack on Latveria that they happily retaliated from," Tony snapped. "One in which none of us have heard from you in over a year. One in which S.H.I.E.L.D. was left with a chain of command nightmare so the Captain and I took over. One in which you lost the right to criticize when you ducked and ran for cover." Tony felt her blood boiling. There was so much she wanted to say to Fury—but then the anger cooled. This wasn't her Fury. This was just some grumpy schmuck from some other universe. He might deserve her wrath for his condescension, but he didn't deserve it for everything that had happened in the last two years. She smoothed her features into a calmer mask.

"So the Captain's in charge?" Fury inquired. Tony arched an eyebrow.

"Not in an official capacity but his input is always taken into heavy consideration. Commander Rogers is in charge of all Superhuman task forces," Tony replied. "It's a large job, to put it mildly."

"Are there a lot of…super humans?" Other Steve asked, his eyebrows creasing together. Tony recognized that particular expression—eyes slightly far in the distant, eyebrows together—it was Steve's 'processing the new world' face, and Tony hadn't seen it in years. Tony cocked her head to one side, examining the Captain.

"Yes. There are many. And they are all registered in our database under the Superhuman Registration Act," Tony said. Tony noticed Steve's attention on her lock on and sharpen, and his eyes began to subtly narrow. She could tell he was about to speak, so she interrupted. "How long have you all been Avengers?" They looked around at one another, as if trying to recall. Eventually Other Tony shrugged.

"Attack on New York was just over a year and a half ago. We pretty much ignored each other for six months after that, but we've been working together…on and off…for the last year," he said. Tony blinked. The information was hard for her to comprehend. She couldn't imagine going more than a week without her team now.

"What year is it?" Tony demanded.

"2013," Other Tony supplied. Tony swiveled and turned to Other Steve.

"How long have you been off the ice?" she asked. He looked surprised to be addressed about this topic. He shrugged.

"Two years," he said. Tony grabbed a swivel chair from one of the desks behind her and sat down.

It was too much for her to process, and her brain could process a lot. But the possibilities reeled in her mind. Herself as a man? That was easy enough to imagine. But life without Steve? She could hardly bear the thought. He'd only been off the ice just two years and it was _2013_. No wonder the Avengers barely existed.

"Ma'am?" Other Steve inquired. It wasn't a concerned tone, more a prompting one. Tony wasn't used to that, and she wasn't used to the formality, and all she wanted in that moment was her husband.

"You mean to tell me that it's 2013 and you've only been a group for barely a year? And not even a cohesive unit?" Tony asked. One look at their faces told her it was true. They were all blank, unconcerned. They didn't understand what being Avengers _meant_. Not yet. She shook her head. "You know, I've seen some crazy things, but the lateness of this grouping might be the craziest yet. It's 2016 here. The Avengers have been operational as a cohesive, consistent task force for the past twenty years."

"That wouldn't be possible for us," Other Tony explained. "I didn't invent the suit until a few years ago. Bruce didn't Hulk out until around then either, and Thor wasn't Earth-bound until after all that. I guess Widow and Hawkeye have always been out doing their thing, but Cap was a Capsicle until recently. There was no team to put together." None of them seemed disturbed by this, but the thought turned Tony's stomach.

"I can't imagine. I really can't," she said. She flipped on the nearest computer and messaged Bruce in the lab. _Year is different, back four years. Their universe moves slightly slower. Could be somewhere in the late 100000s for classification._

"So all of that happened earlier for you?" Jane asked. Tony looked at Jane.

"Not just that. You should be older. You're nearly my age, and I was born in 1970. I met the Captain in 1990, when he came off ice. A few years later, there were reports of a gamma radiation accident—the same that created the Hulk. And in '96 I made the suit to escape capture in Iraq. That was the same year Thor showed up and we made the Avengers," Tony said. She could still see that cave, still hear Yinsen's voice. _Don't waste it. Don't waste your life_. She hadn't. But she couldn't imagine having twenty years without that voice in her head. She examined the lines on Other Tony's face. She wondered if those were from stress or alcohol or depression or all three. It was probably all three. She wondered how he managed to stave off self-loathing without Steve. She guessed that he didn't.

"1990…26 years ago in this timeline," Other Steve said slowly. She could see the pained look on his face. It was subtle, but it was there in the set of his mouth, the look in his eyes. It was yet another twenty years that he had missed in his universe. "The Avengers didn't form immediately, then." Tony nodded.

"It took six more years. Steve worked for Marvel comics for a few years before he got back into S.H.I.E.L.D. and the military," she explained. Steve the artist was much different than Steve the soldier, and Tony was frankly glad she'd met Steve the artist first. Steve the soldier was more intimidating. "Then we got on with the Avengers Initiative. Speaking of—you're pretty young in this endeavor, yes? Can you tell me _why_ you think someone with a cosmic cube might try to teleport you all out of your universe and into mine?" There was silence from the crowd. She didn't genuinely expect some of them to know—Pepper was probably legitimately clueless, and Jane likely wasn't any more in the loop, and even some of the Avengers themselves might not know the situation, but she could tell by Fury's calculated, blank expression that he knew more than he was letting on. After a few moments of silence, Tony continued,

"Right, well, you just all have a nice long think about that and keep yourselves occupied. I'm going to watch _Game of Thrones_ and wait for the lab results," Tony said. She really hated Tuesdays.


	4. You Win or You Die

"No, I don't need you to come in, we've got it covered here. The kids will want to see you, I'm sure, and at least one of us should get a good night's sleep," Tony told Steve. She sat in what was essentially a break room, watching _Game of Thrones_ on one of her flatscreens.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. "I could grab something from the restaurant and we could eat on the helicarrier." Tony grunted.

"Ugh, no. That sounds like the least appealing thing ever. I do not want to associate chocolate cake with raspberry sauce with the _helicarrier_. I would much rather associate it with our _bedroom_," she said grumpily. She didn't want her delicious gourmet food ruined by the horrible atmosphere of the helicarrier, of the steel walls and loud hum of the propellers or the prying eyes of her employees. Steve had just chuckled.

"Tell you what, I'll swing by the restaurant and pick up some dessert and put it in the fridge and we can have our own—much more private—dinner whenever you get home," Steve said, and his voice was deep and filled with suggestion. A chill ran all the way down to her toes—she _loved_ it when he got this way.

"My hero," she teased. She had looked up at _Game of Thrones_ just then, and then glanced over to her laptop, which presented surveillance trained on the other Avengers team. They were still processing the whole 'thrown into another universe thing', and from what she could hear they were still trying to figure out why in the hell one of their young agents went rogue and sent them to 3490. "All right, I could probably sit and talk to you on the phone all night but I'm going to hang up now because A) I think my job entails actually monitoring the situation at hand, B) I haven't seen this season of _Game of Thrones_ yet, and C) I think the phone sex I'm really tempted to start would be wildly inappropriate for the workplace."

"When does _that_ ever stop you?" Steve teased. "Are you _maturing_, Tony? Why, I never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut up," Tony replied affectionately. "I'll talk to you in…I don't know. Maybe ten hours or so, Bruce is working on setting up the computers to do all the work, and once they're going we'll have an exact time."

"All right. Bye Tony, love you," Steve said.

"Love you too," Tony said, and hung up the phone. She watched the laptop carefully.

They weren't a very cohesive unit. Her double was arguing with Fury. Alternate Steve was arguing with both of them. Natasha looked like she wanted to kill everyone on the team because the testosterone was getting to be too much, and Bruce was taking deep breaths and ignoring everyone which was a terrible sign. She wondered, briefly, if Banner had the Hulk under control or if he would be an even bigger threat than she had initially anticipated.

"Computers are doing their thing," Dr. Banner, _her_ Dr. Banner, walked in through the door. He took a seat beside her on the couch. He looked at the laptop. "So you're pretty confident they're friendly?"

"Ha, no," Tony said, keeping a sharp eye on the proceedings. "My running theory is that they're _stupid_. Very stupid. Not an ounce of experience between them and Rogers, the only one who might have a sensible head on his shoulders, is a _baby_. Look at him! He's a kid. He's Steve when we met in 1990 for God's sake. He might be a big war hero but he hasn't adjusted to this century yet. Clouds his judgment."

"And the big threats are?" Dr. Banner asked.

"Romanov, as usual," Tony said. "Can't trust that one further than you can throw her, of course. Well. Actually, you might be able to throw her quite far. Me in the Iron suit as well, but you get my meaning. She's the only one I see presenting a real threat at the moment, other than, perhaps, your counterpart."

"Mine?" Dr. Banner asked.

"I'm not certain how good his control is," she said, pointing him out on screen. Dr. Banner regarded himself for a moment.

"Not as good as mine, but probably about the same as I was at that same stage, a couple of years into it," Dr. Banner reasoned. "He's not likely to Hulk out unless we give him reason to."

"Well, we'll just have to keep them relatively calm then," Tony said. She sat back on the couch. The other Steve and Tony were engaged in a rather heated argument. "My counterpart won't be an issue. Scariest part about him is his hacking ability and he won't be able to crack my systems. I'll make sure of that. He hasn't got Extremis anyway, so that makes things easier, and frankly, personality-wise I don't think he ever left the nineties."

"And Thor? He could be a problem," Dr. Banner pointed out. Tony shrugged.

"If he is, well, we have our own Thor. And if Thor isn't around—well, we know how to neutralize Asgardians. But I'm not concerned. This one doesn't seem to understand Midgard all that well, he'll be taking his directives from Rogers and Fury. And we're at an advantage over Fury. I don't believe for a second that man was unaware of the multiverse. He _knows_ things. His secrets have secrets," Tony said. Perhaps fortuitously, Varys, the spy master on _Game of Thrones_ appeared on screen. "I don't view him as a threat, but we do need to find out what he knows."

"By what means do you intend to get _Director Fury_ to divulge sensitive information?" Dr. Banner asked, an eyebrow raised. Tony smiled.

"Not by any means necessary, if that's what you're asking, Banner. I haven't gone power mad just yet."

"_Yet_," Bruce snorted. He looked at her carefully.

"We'll keep him at the Triskelion. I'll see if I can't get Hill to befriend him—as much as either of them are capable of befriending anyone. Let him in on some unimportant matters that, to an outsider with little experience, will probably look like important ones—make him feel part of the team and then see if he'll spill," Tony said. She looked up at _Game of Thrones_—if only this were actual time in which she could relax and not time in which she had to _strategize_. Her job was such a pain sometimes. All she wanted to do was unwind.

"And if that doesn't work?" Bruce asked.

"Then I'll send in the big guns," Tony said. At Bruce's questioning look she clarified, "I'll have Steve talk to him."

"Talk to him or _talk_ to him?" Bruce asked. Tony smiled.

"Whatever Steve decides is more effective," she said. "But I assume he will, in fact, just talk to him."

"And if _that_ doesn't work?" Bruce asked.

"Such a pessimist today, aren't we Bruce?" she asked. "Perhaps I'll try using my feminine wiles."

"Fury's basically a robot. He's less sexual than JARVIS. And I'm sure Steve'll be thrilled at the suggestion."

"I'm not going to torture the man, Banner," Tony said. "I told you. Not that power mad just yet. Besides I have another, less painful way of getting exactly what I want." Bruce stilled, then eyed Tony carefully.

"It's not exactly ethical."

"Neither would be having my husband beat Fury's face to a pretty little pulp," Tony pointed out. "I think it will work out better for everyone this way. But first. Traditional questionably ethical spy methods." Tony turned up the volume on her show, very much so done with this discussion with Dr. Banner. For a while, her tactic succeeded, and Bruce fell silent, but as soon as the credits rolled, he opened his mouth again.

"So what are we going to _do_ with them?" Bruce asked. Tony sighed.

"Chuck them back into their universe as soon as we're able. Tomorrow, if we can, or the next day," she said.

"And if it's longer than that?" Bruce asked.

"Then I want to keep an eye on them. A close one. And separate the head from the shoulders so to speak—Fury, Hill, and Coulson will stay at the Triskelion. I'll take the others home," Tony said as the opening sequence to a new episode rolled. Bruce looked surprised.

"_Home_? You don't mean—you'll take them back to the mansion? To Brookeville?" Bruce asked. "Tony, we don't know how friendly or unfriendly these guys are—that's a _massive_ risk, not just to you, not just to Steve but to your _kids_, how can you even _think_—" Tony reached over to her laptop and pressed a key. She could really change the screen with her mind, but touching the keys got Bruce's attention. He fell silent as he viewed the model of the nanite on screen.

"To all of them, Tony?" Bruce asked.

"Other Me doesn't have Extremis. He won't be able to detect it, and none of them will suspect," Tony said. "I'll slip the nanites in carefully. In brownie batter or something. They'll never know. And once the nanites are in their bloodstream, well, our universe will be safe from whatever threat they may pose. This is how we neutralize an Asgardian, Bruce, this is how we take secrets straight from Other Fury's brain, this is how I make sure Rogers doesn't go insane from the stress of his short new life and start a killing rampage. I'll link them up to JARVIS. He'll monitor the situation for me and if any of them come close to touching a hair on me or my kids' heads, or any innocent civilians'—well, he'll knock them cold where they stand. Or he'll pull the trigger if he has to." Bruce let out a long breath.

"It doesn't feel right, Tony," he said.

"It's not about right, Bruce. It's about Universe Security. We won't breach their privacy any more than we have to," Tony said.

"D'you think Steve will approve of this?" Bruce asked.

"He doesn't have to, _I'm_ the Director," Tony said coolly. "But yes, actually. He knows. He doesn't exactly approve but he didn't raise any serious objections, either. After the last alternate avengers team he knows it's a prudent move."

"And you used to rag on Fury about his unethical decisions," Bruce said dryly.

"Because Fury never attempted ethical ones first," Tony protested. "I'm not going to download my alternate's brain and see exactly what he's thinking. I'm not going to pry the secrets out of Fury with nanites if I can do it with _friendship_. But I'm not going to give these ones any leeway either. They need to be watched. They might just be stupid, but it might just be an act. We can't know for certain."

"I hate it when you use the nanites," Bruce said, frowning but raising no further objection.

"You and me both, Bruce. You and me both."


	5. Lab Results

"So what's the damage, Doctor Banner?" Tony inquired, hours later. She had watched almost the entirety of season six of _Game of Thrones._ It was nearly four in the morning. Doctor Banner grunted.

"_Damage_ is the right word," he said. "Come take a look." Tony moved forward, joining Bruce behind his desk and looking at the screen he had pulled up. It was filled with results and variables, complex equations that, as much as Tony was loathe to admit it, Reed Richards would have an easier time comprehending. This was not her field of expertise.

"All right, well I'm getting that we've got a designation now—199999. That should be good, we can send them back. But what's…_this_?" Tony pointed to a specific calculation on the screen. Bruce took off his glasses, polishing them on his shirt. It was an irritated tick, Tony knew.

"I called Richards and he finally picked up the phone. Actually that's a lie, _Sue_ picked up and I let her know about our visitors. I sent him the universe designation to see when, exactly, the machine will be ready to send them back…and he sent me back this, and an apology," Bruce said.

"And…did he explain this or…?" Tony asked. The more she stared at the numbers on the screen, the less she liked them. A growing sense of foreboding settled in her stomach. If those numbers were what she _thought_ they were…

"He thinks they tore their way here. Ripped a hole in both of our universes to get here. No confirmation yet," Bruce said. "He said that would take a while." Tony gripped the desk hard, until her knuckles turned white.

"So we have no way of knowing yet whether or not both of our universes are going to collapse," she said. "Brilliant. Did he give us an ETA for that data?" Bruce shook his head. "Just 'not tomorrow'. It will take twenty-four hours, at least." Tony pinched the bridge of her nose. Twenty-four hours was a long time to go without knowing whether both of their worlds were on the verge of collapse.

"I suppose that's it then. All we can do for now. Fine. I'll let 199999 get some sleep," Tony said. She knew they must be tired. From their conversations she had gleaned that they had been in a battle shortly before arriving, and who knew how long any of them had been up before then. She was almost fond of the alternates, even as wary as she was around them. They had a certain innocence. It led, she thought, to naivete, but Tony found charm in it anyway.

"Will you take them to the Triskelion, or…?" Bruce asked.

"The Avengers will come with me. I'll slip them nanites in…scrambled eggs? Waffles? Muffins? Something breakfast-y, it's almost breakfast isn't it? I am _starving_," she complained.

"Then go home and get something to eat and go to _bed_," Bruce admonished her. Tony knew he'd gotten in a bit of sleep during their wait, which Tony _could_ have done, but she preferred to monitor the alts. And watch _Game of Thrones_, it really was a compelling series. She slid out from behind Bruce's desk.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Tony told him. Bruce shook his head.

"It _is_ tomorrow, Tony. I'll see you on _Thursday_ after you've recharged," Bruce said insistently.

"You know, contrary to popular belief, even though my brain is essentially a computer, I don't _actually_ run on batteries," Tony said, rolling her eyes.

"No, if you did it would be less impressive," Bruce said, arching an eyebrow. "Go home before you fall over. You can't tell me you could actually operate the suit like this—you're bordering on a liability right now."

"Worry wart," Tony said, but it was an affectionate insult. He had a point, after all. She probably _couldn't_ operate the suit very well like this. And considering she had a new team of Avengers who might or might not be hostile, that wasn't a particularly great situation.

She headed down the halls, stopping only briefly to look at her faint reflection in a window to fix her hair. Not that it looked great anyway. She didn't remember when last she'd had a chance to shower. She sighed. Well, she would just have to make do. And anyway, perhaps the harried Director slash wife slash mother slash superhero was just the part to play to earn the trust of these alts. She could play that easily enough. She took a breath and pushed open the door to the command deck.


	6. Pancakes

The mansion in this world was exactly the same to the one Tony had left for good in his own world—universe 199999. It was strange to think their world had a number on it—stranger to think that it was so large. The mansion was the same as the one in his universe, yet not exactly the same as the one he remembered. The mansion as he remembered it was cold and empty. The elegant furniture was covered with white sheets and plastic covers, the whole house turned into little more than a storage facility. But this mansion was warm, and the furniture was inviting. Hard couches had been replaced with plush, luxurious leather. A giant beanbag had its own place in the living room, as did a large flat screen TV. An Xbox 360 was out on the floor, controllers tangled up in each other. It was strange to walk through the mansion with the rest of the Avengers—minus Fury, Hill, and Coulson, who had elected to stay behind—but it was even stranger to walk through this reconfiguring of the cold mansion he remembered. 3490 Tony, girl Tony, didn't stop in the living room, though.

"I don't know about you all, but I'm starving. Why don't we get something to eat and then I'll show you to the guest rooms?" 3490 Tony suggested. It was strange hearing her voice. It wasn't low or high for a woman, just an average range, like Pepper. It was melodic, however, and smooth, like she had trained in classical singing before. Tony guessed she probably had, perhaps at mother's insistence.

"Food would be great," Steve said, looking around at the group for affirmation. Steve had fashioned himself the spokesman for the group, and this instance Tony found he didn't mind. He could use food, though what he could really use _more_ was a drink.

They entered the kitchen, which seemed to be a combination of a professional and amateur kitchen, with large, shiny silver appliances and counters in one half, and a granite countertop with a normal black fridge and oven at the other. Tony was surprised to see one small addition in the corner—a simple wooden table with wooden chairs that looked like it belonged in a farmhouse in middle America. Tony had never eaten in the kitchen before, aside from snacks stolen in the night. When he had lived in the mansion, his parents always insisted on eating in the dining room, at the massive dining room table that always made Tony feel small. Splayed out on the kitchen table were a variety of textbooks and notebooks, and looking down intently at them was a teenage boy. He had light brown hair that stuck up in every direction. He was still in sweats and a t-shirt, which seemed to drown his lanky form. He didn't so much sit on the chair as squat on top of it, his bare toes curled over the edge of the seat. It was obvious he had an utter disregard for furniture. Tony felt a nagging sensation at the back of his mind. It seemed very familiar, but he couldn't recall this boy in his own universe. 3490 Tony seemed just as surprised to see him.

"Peter, it's five in the morning—what are you doing up?" she asked. She didn't sound scolding so much as baffled. The boy looked up, startled, and Tony found himself startled in turn by the boy.

"Uh… studying," Peter said. He had large, wide brown eyes. _A regular Bambi_, Tony thought. But it was more than that which had startled Tony. It was his whole face—the shape of his nose, the set of his eyes, the width of his brow. He looked remarkably like _Tony_, like himself, not his mother, though her influence was obvious enough. There was a mix of features there, however, which Tony could not identify. Peter had a bowl of chocolate cereal in front of him and a spoonful that was halfway to his mouth, threatening to drip on his textbook.

"And _why_ are you studying at _five in the morning_?" 3490 Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Didn't study last night and the test is today. Are these the Alts? Dad said something about Alts," Peter said. He gulped down the spoonful of cereal so quickly Tony didn't think he could have possibly managed to chew. 3490 Tony nodded.

"Yes," 3490 Tony replied patiently. "Their names are the same. Everyone this is Peter, my son. Peter, everyone." There were a few hellos and 'good morning's from the 199999s. Tony found himself silent, though. _My son_. Tony couldn't imagine having one, and yet, there he was, proof that in another universe Tony Stark had a family and, judging by their brief interaction, it was a perfectly functional relationship. Tony found himself wondering about this Peter child. Did he like technology? Did he hate it? What did he think of the Iron Man? Of Stark Industries? Who the hell was his _father_? 3490 Tony just ruffled her son's already messy hair. "Peter, why don't you get your dad and ask him to make pancakes?"

"That's fifty times better than cold cereal," Peter said with a grin. He put down his spoon and jumped off the chair before hurrying off down another hallway that Tony knew was the quickest way to the upstairs. He was a quick kid, which made sense considering he seemed to be all leg.

"So…you have a son?" Steve asked.

"And a daughter, Kate. They're twins. And a stepson, James, but he's not around much. He's twenty-two, so he pretty much does his own thing," 3490 Tony responded. Tony was perfectly aware that everyone from his universe was looking at 3490 Tony with a dumbfounded expression—well, everyone aside from Natasha, but that was to be expected. Tony couldn't even comprehend enough to get a dumbfounded expression on his face. He couldn't get past the idea of himself _pregnant_. It was kind of hilarious. He felt bad for the poor bastard who'd managed to get his female counterpart pregnant; Tony felt certain that she had surely caused him much misery. 3490 Tony was lazily moving about the kitchen, setting out a griddle, putting out flour and milk and other ingredients.

"So you're married with three kids?" Clint asked. Tony knew him well enough to know when he was barely holding in laughter. Clint glanced at Tony knowingly.

"Yes," 3490 Tony replied, an eyebrow raised in his direction. "I fail to see what's so amusing about that, though. You've got _four_." Clint looked a bit like he'd swallowed his own tongue at that, and 3490 Tony went back to her mission of setting out ingredients. Tony smirked in Clint's direction.

"You're still a girl," Clint muttered to him out of the corner of his mouth. Tony rolled his eyes. A few moments later Tony heard Peter before he saw him. He heard the hurried, heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Peter popped into the kitchen.

"He'll do it," Peter said. He inspected the ingredients his mother had laid out on the counter. "You forgot the eggs."

"Oh," 3490 Tony said, looking at the group. "So I did. I'll just—" But whatever 3490 Tony was going to do, no one ever found out. At that moment, 3490 Steve Rogers walked into the kitchen. He had an easy, commanding air about him, more so than their Steve Rogers. He was noticeably older, probably by thirty years or so, making him as old as Tony. It was obvious he lived there, and Tony began to wonder if all the Avengers did before 3490 Steve grabbed 3490 Tony about the waist and kissed her passionately.

If the team had been dumbstruck before, they were thunderstruck now. Electrocution at the hands of Thor could not have shocked them more. Peter, however, was calmly carrying on in the kitchen, rooting through the fridge.

"Hey Mom, I don't think we have any eggs," he said, but his mother was still engaged with the older Captain. Peter sighed with exasperation. He could see the faces of the astounded Alts, and he rolled his eyes in their direction. "Yeah, they do this all the time. It's awful." He cupped his hands over his mouth, forming a temporary megaphone. "MOM WE'RE OUT OF EGGS." 3490 Tony broke from Steve Rogers' embrace briefly.

"Then go get some, please," she said before Rogers recaptured her lips as she giggled. _Giggled_. Tony felt his stomach churn with an unidentified emotion.

"What kind? How many?" Peter asked. "Can you _stop please?_ Ugh."

"Three dozen organic," 3490 Tony said, parting from 3490 Steve Rogers once more.

"Organic, got it," Peter said, snatching keys off the counter.

"Might as well grab a few pounds of bacon while you're out, Peter," 3490 Steve spoke. His voice was a bit deeper than that of the Steve Rogers of his own universe, but the biggest difference was the confidence. The older Steve sounded confident and even more commanding.  
"Uh-huh," Peter said, and then disappeared once more.

"These must be the Avengers of Earth 199999," 3490 Steve said. His arm was still curled about 3490 Tony's waist. "Welcome." There was utter silence in he room for a moment. 3490 Steve began to look a bit concerned by their lack of response.

"Sorry, we're all still stuck at the part where Steve Rogers started making out with Tony Stark," Clint said bluntly. Thor roared with laughter.

"The metal man and the Captain," he said, seemingly incapable of voicing anything else. Tony reached for Pepper's hand possessively. Pepper seemed grateful for the contact.

"Not metal _man_. Metal _woman_, darling," 3490 Tony corrected. "And metal sounds so crude, it's a _gold-titanium all—"_

"So you two are married?" Pepper interrupted. "With children?" Tony felt his insides go cold. 3490 Tony nodded.

"Happily married for ten years now," 3490 Tony said proudly. She did seem quite proud about it, too. She boasted a bright smile and looked up adoringly at her handsome husband. It was all very strange. Tony couldn't fathom being in the same situation—married, living in the mansion, having two kids… It was not something Tony had ever considered seriously.

"Has it only been ten?" 3490 Steve said, his voice teasing. "Feels like ninety." 3490 Tony swatted him on the arm. He turned to the 'Alts' as they had termed the 199999 Avengers and smiled warmly. "Can I get anyone some coffee? Peter should be back soon, the grocery store is just down the street."

There was a chorus of desperate 'yes's, and a few minutes later they were all settled at the cramped kitchen table, mugs of coffee in hand, while 3490 Steve and his son Peter made pancakes at the griddle. Peter passed them out as they became available, until everyone had a plate except his dad, at which point he yelled,

"Pancaaaaaaakes," and plopped himself violently in the open seat next to 199999 Steve, who looked surprised, though Tony didn't know if that was because of the manner of his sitting or that he'd sat next to Steve. Steve, Tony noticed, hadn't said a word all breakfast, despite having been spokesman for the group before they'd arrived at the mansion. He looked contemplative, now. Peter chowed down next to him, shoveling food in his mouth as teenage boys are wont to do. Steve was, it did not escape Tony's notice, watching 3490 Tony, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Pepper about shoes.

"So this other universe," Peter spoke suddenly, apparently addressing Steve, "do you still have pancakes?" Tony couldn't tell whether or not he was joking.

"Yes?" Steve answered, a bit uncertainly. Peter nodded sagely.

"One of the good earths, then," he said. This led Tony to wonder whether or not there were actually universes which did not have pancakes and how Peter might have come upon this information, but the boy began to speak before he could ask. "How about lightsabers? Got any of those? I'm trying to design one, using a mirror controlled by a magnetic field that would bounce the laser between another mirror in the hilt, giving it form and limit, but it's really not the _same_, y'know, as just a _freestanding_ lightsaber."

"A—what?" Steve asked, baffled. "Light what?"

"Dude, lightsaber. Star Wars? No? Nothing?" Peter asked.

"Leave him alone, Peter, he just got off the ice a year or two ago," 3490 Tony said. There was a slight note of admonishment in her tone.

"What, just? Are you guys from the nineties? Because you should really warn James Cameron against remaking Fern Gully and Pocahontas with computer generated blue people," Peter insisted. "Oh, and there's some stuff about terrorist attacks and things you should know, but mostly you need to sit down with James Cameron."

"_Peter_."

"Travesty. It's a _travesty of film_, Mom," Peter said.

"We're uh, we're not from the nineties. We're just a couple of years behind you," Steve said.

"Huh," Peter said. "Well that's weird." He looked directly at Tony. "But I guess it's weirder that Mom has a beard." Tony couldn't help but laugh at that. 3490 Tony just rolled her eyes.

"It's a goatee, kid," Tony corrected. Peter just grinned.

"You should probably know that there's someone waiting on the other side of the door so they can't be seen right now," Natasha said suddenly. Tony didn't know how she managed that. He could swear that to have her spy abilities she had to have a sixth sense.

"Kate, why don't you come in for breakfast," 3490 Tony called out, puzzled. There was a squeak of the floorboards and then a teenage girl appeared in the doorway. She was wearing black lace tights, a black skirt that was indecently tight and rather short, and a turquoise top that seemed to be mainly made of sequins and sheer material and showed not a small amount of skin. She had on heavy eye make-up, which was slightly smudged, around her bright blue eyes, and her glossy black curls were a frizzy mess. Now Tony could see why the girl had been waiting on the other side of the door—she'd been trying to sneak past, back up to her room. He could see a growing fury in 3490 Tony's eyes. "Katherine."

"Morning Mom, Daddy," Kate said, trying out her best smile. It was unfortunately unconvincing. 3490 Tony knocked back the remaining coffee in her mug, then set it on the table. She stood up, walking towards the door.

"Come with me," she said. "We're going to have a discussion."

"Busted," Peter said in between coughs in a fake coughing fit. Kate leveled a glare at him before following her mother out of the kitchen. 3490 Steve just watched them go, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He finally sat down with his own plate of pancakes, taking the seat on the other side of his doppelganger. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he crossed himself.

"You're Catholic?" Steve asked.

"You're not?" 3490 Steve asked, sounding just as surprised. "Were your parents not Irish?"

"Well, they were but—" Steve started, but he was interrupted by a shout from afar.

"THAT IS SO UNFAIR!" Kate's voice bled into the kitchen. "YOU'RE SUCH A HYPOCRITE—"

"KATHERINE ELIZABETH ROGERS!" was the only response from 3490 Tony that the kitchen could hear.

"Oh, bringing out the full name," Peter muttered. "She's in _trouble_."

"Peter," Steve rebuked him with a look.

"Well she _is_," Peter insisted. 3490 Steve couldn't argue with that, so he took a bit of his pancake instead. A moment later, mother and daughter reappeared in the doorway, both looking infuriated.

"Go take a shower, you stink of vodka. You're going to be late to school if you don't hurry, and I'm not making any excuses to the principal for you," 3490 Tony said firmly. Her eyes dark and angry, Kate turned on her heel towards the stairs. "And don't even think of touching the ibuprofen! JARVIS will tell me if you do!" 3490 Tony sighed and came back into the kitchen, snatching her mug back up from the table and making a beeline for the coffeemaker.

"And her punishment is?" 3490 Steve asked.

"Peter go put your clothes on and get ready," 3490 Tony said.

"But—"

"_Go,_ Peter," 3490 Tony insisted, shooing him out with her hand. Looking sorely disappointed, Peter ate the last bite of his pancake and then left the table, heading off after Kate.

"So?" 3490 Steve asked.

"No archery with Francis and Clint for two weeks," 3490 Tony answered. "No training session at the Academy for the same amount of time. Grounded for a month, and no medication for her hangover today." 3490 Tony sat with her newly filled coffee mug, still looking murderous.

"For a month? Tony, don't you think that might be a little…harsh?" 3490 Steve asked cautiously.

"No, Steven, I don't," 3490 Tony said. "And neither would you if ever had to play bad cop with that child."

"I've played bad cop before," 3490 Steve objected.

"Oh really? With Kate? Name once," 3490 Tony scoffed. 3490 Steve didn't answer. "That's what I thought. She's your Bonnie Blue Butler, Steve, and you know it." The 3490 couple were unaware of it, but the rest of the room was feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, as though they were intruding on a private family matter. As a result, they attempted to make small talk as the couple argued, trying to stay out of their conversation. But no one was really paying attention to their own conversations. The weather in this new universe wasn't _that_ interesting. Tony was paying very close attention, and he couldn't help but notice so was Steve. It was too tempting—Tony was fascinated by how these two people fit together. Like an engine Tony had never seen before, all he wanted to do was take them apart, see what made them tick. After all, one of them was _him_.

"You've never been this harsh with Peter," 3490 Steve insisted.

"Light punishment works well on a kid like Peter, but not a kid like Kate," 3490 Tony argued. "Besides, name once that Peter has done something half as bad as sneaking out at night to go to a _frat party_ at ESU?"

"Blowing up the chem lab at school?" 3490 Steve suggested with a raised eyebrow.

"That was an _accident_ and that teacher is a _moron_," 3490 Tony snapped.

"Accident or not, he blew up the chem lab," 3490 Steve pointed out.

"No, Steven, there is no 'accident or not', there is a _world_ of difference between _accident_ and maliciously putting two explosive materials together to destroy the school's chemistry lab! And not only that, there's a world of difference between accidentally causing an explosion and _deliberately_ sneaking around behind your parents' backs and getting _trashed_ at a party full of university boys," 3490 Tony said, obviously enraged.

"I'm just saying, I think you're harder on Kate than you are on Peter," 3490 Steve said evenly.

"Oh, because you're so easy on James?" 3490 Tony shot back. 3490 Steve's eyes went hard.

"Don't bring him into this Tony," 3490 Steve said in a warning tone.

"Oh, the truth hurts, doesn't it?" 3490 Tony said. "You're a thousand-fold harder on him than you ever have been on Kate and you know it. So don't you dare go criticizing my parenting when you yourself could use a check in the mirror." 3490 Steve looked very serious.

"I've done my best by James," he said quietly. "I've done what I thought was right, what I thought would be good for him. I've _tried_ to be a good father to him, even if I haven't succeeded." 3490 Tony looked a bit guilty.

"I know you have," she said. "I didn't mean—I didn't mean it the way you took it."

"Doesn't change the truth of it," 3490 Steve said with a sigh. 3490 Tony rose from her seat and stood behind her husband, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"I didn't mean to cut so deep, honey," she said. "I'm just frustrated. Kate's been driving me up the wall since you've been gone. I didn't mean to fight with you. I don't _want_ to fight with you." 3490 Steve just took one of his wife's small hands in his own big ones.

"I didn't mean to imply you were being a bad mother," 3490 Steve apologized. "I'm sorry." He turned his head and 3490 Tony leaned down to meet him in a kiss. It was sweet and gentle, with none of the passion from earlier that morning. It was utterly _domestic_ and it made Tony's stomach roil.

"Speaking of getting dressed, I think I ought to," 3490 Steve said, putting down his fork, pushing his chair out and standing up. He kissed his wife on the cheek and then left. As soon as he was gone, 3490 Tony gave a wry smile to the Alts.

"So welcome to a not-exactly-typical-and-thank-God-for-that morning at the Stark Rogers household," 3490 Tony said. "If you would like to leave your awkward excuses for how you were 'totally not listening, didn't hear any of it' at the door, it would be appreciated. If everyone will finish up soon, I'll show you to your rooms." Leave it to Tony, in any verse, to break the tension of a moment. More relaxed and settled now, the Avengers and co of 199999 earnestly ate the remainder of their breakfasts. All but Steve, Tony noted, who sipped at his coffee and surreptitiously watched 3490 Tony, who was throwing dishes in the sink. Moments later, just as the Avengers were filling the alternate kitchen with their own boisterous conversations (Thor regaling Jane with tales of Asgard, Clint, Bruce and Natasha discussing the latest episode of _Dog Cop_, while Tony himself spoke with Pepper, dancing around the topic of his doppelganger's apparent ability to commit as best he could—Steve was the only quiet one), Peter and Kate both slipped back into the kitchen. Kate was dressed in a dark blue skirt, a white shirt with a tie, and a blue blazer with a school crest embroidered on it. Peter, however, was dressed in baggy jeans and a black sweatshirt. Peter grabbed his backpack from the floor by the kitchen table while Kate opened up the pantry and grabbed a poptart. 3490 Tony walked to her.

"Did you take the eye drops I told you to?" she asked in an undertone. It was almost too quiet for the other Avengers to hear. _Almost_. Tony found himself listening again, as did, he suspected, half the kitchen.

"Yes," Kate replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw 3490 Tony gently pull apart Kate's eyelids to check her eyes more thoroughly.

"Good. Go to school," she said sharply, "and if you are even _five minutes_ late this afternoon, Katherine Elizabeth, I _swear_…" She let the threat hang, leaving Kate to imagine all sorts of horrible things.

"But Mom, I have French club today. I'm the _president_, I have to go—"

"Well _too bad_," 3490 Tony said. "You'll be here at 4 o'clock precisely. I'm having Happy pick you up himself."

"_Mom_—" Kate complained, but 3490 Tony didn't even let her start.

"And you should be goddamn _grateful_ that I didn't tell your father what you were really up to," she snapped. "Now go to school, Kate." Kate looked like she was about to protest, but she shut her mouth and turned on her heel, leaving the kitchen with a poptart in hand.

"Bye, Mom," Peter said cheerfully, giving a short wave. 3490 Tony crossed the short distance to him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Goodbye, Peter. I love you, have a good day at school," she said.

"Love you, too, Mom," he said. "Bye." Then Peter turned to the alts and gave a short wave to them. "Bye to you too. Nice meeting you all." There were a few muttered goodbyes in return to Peter's, along with Pepper and Jane's polite return of both of his sentiments, and Thor's booming goodbye:

"Goodbye Rogerson! I hope you enjoy your day at the institute of learning and expand your mind greatly." Peter gave him a small grin before he was out the door.

3490 Tony turned her gaze to 199999 Steve, who wore a frown, obviously following the conversation.

"Don't look at me like that," she said. Steve, thoroughly chastened by this simple request, looked away, his face turning red. 3490 Tony looked at the rest of the alts. "Are we done then? Good. I'll show you to—" Tony was yet again interrupted by 3490 Steve's appearance.

"No, you won't," he said, a small smile on his face. Tony noticed that 3490 Tony froze for a moment. He could practically hear what she was thinking. _How long has he been there? What did he hear? How much shit am I in?_ "I will. _You_ are going to bed."

"That's not necessary," 3490 Tony scoffed, recovering from her frozen face rather quickly.

"Oh really? When was the last time you slept?"

"Um. I don't recall."

"Seventy-six hours ago," JARVIS replied. It was the first time Tony had heard the AI's voice in the mansion.

"Thank you, JARVIS," 3490 Steve said as 3490 Tony cursed him as a traitor under her breath. "_Bed_, Tony. I'll take care of things." 3490 Tony flicked her eyes to the Alts and then back to her Steve.

"Well…all right," she agreed. "I am a bit tired. If you all need anything, I'm sure Steve will be around to help…but help yourselves to anything in the kitchen, and there's a rec room Steve can show you. There's a gym as well, complete with training simulations. You're free to go anywhere in the house except James', Peter's, and Kate's rooms, of course." 3490 Tony headed out of the kitchen, yawning as she went. 3490 Steve smiled.

"Right then, I'll show you to the guest rooms. We have five, which means almost everyone will need to share. I hope that's not a problem? If it is, we can assign you rooms at the Triskelion," 3490 Steve explained, then waited for someone to speak up. When no one did, he waved them on. "This way, then." The 199999 Avengers rose from the table and followed behind the Steve double. Thor and Jane took the first room. Tony claimed the second for himself—he knew from experience that it had the best view of the garden. Pepper picked the room with the best art on the walls. Steve and Bruce decided to bunk together, and Clint and Natasha did as well. Tony wasn't entirely certain if there was anything between them, but they were certainly most comfortable with one another, and frankly Tony figured neither Steve nor Bruce would prefer to bunk with either one of them. They were super spies and probably assassins, after all. Everyone retired to their rooms, agreeing by unspoken consensus that after their insane day it was probably best to get some rest, even if that rest meant some universe-jet-lag.

But Tony couldn't sleep. Even when the blankets were warm and snug around him, even when all the lights were out (minus the ever present one on his chest, of course), even when he could rest easy, knowing that discussing with the other avengers the topic of the weird universe they had landed in could wait for another day, Tony still couldn't sleep. Gently he slipped out from under the covers and quietly left the room.

The mansion was still the way that Tony had left it, architecturally, except with one exception—the door to his father's old workshop now had a complicated lock on the door. Tony knew this from having passed by it on the way to the kitchen and having seen the clear tablet next to the door, much like the ones he had at home in Malibu. _Very _much like the ones he had in Malibu. Even if their passwords weren't the same, Tony was fairly certain he could hack 3490 Tony's system and get into the lab. He just wanted to tinker. And maybe he a little bit wanted to see some of 3490 Tony's toys. Ok, maybe he wanted that a _lot_. The woman had armor coming out of her _skin_, for God's sake. He _really_ wanted to know how that one worked.

One right, two lefts, another right and he was there—and ran straight into 3490 Steve, who was leaning casually against the wall next to the lock. He saw Tony and one side of his mouth curled upwards.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to show up," he said. Tony felt caught, like a deer in headlights.

"Oh, I'm just on my way to the bathroom," Tony said, before berating his choice. 3490 Steve raised an eyebrow.

"So you took three unnecessary turns and were about to take another when you know perfectly well that there's a bathroom attached to your guest room?" he asked.

"From the kitchen. I was in the kitchen," Tony said. 3490 Steve looked highly amused now.

"So you took four unnecessary turns to get to the bathroom in the next hall over instead of taking two and going back to your room? Uh huh," 3490 Steve said. "Sounds perfectly logical."

"Hey, go easy on me, Spock, it's been a good thirty years since I've set foot in the mansion," Tony joked. 3490 Steve eyed him for a moment, in a way that didn't make Tony feel entirely comfortable. It was like he knew something, or was guessing something, about Tony that Tony didn't feel like Steve—3490 or not—had any right to know.

"Hm," 3490 Steve said in response. "Well, whether or not this was a detour on the way to the _bathroom_, I feel I should inform you that while Tony did not detail it in her list of forbidden places, the lab is definitely off-limits, hence the locks on the door."

"Right," Tony said. "I just—"

"Wanted to see what made Tony's armor tick. I noticed you don't have Extremis," 3490 Steve said, still smiling. "I get it. But her lab isn't to be messed with. You should get that." Tony felt like he was six years old again.

"Right," he said, and he was about to head back in the other direction when he realized something. His eyebrows knit together. "What are you doing here, anyway? Hanging out outside the lab for no discernible reason?" Steve let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

"Waiting for you, of course. I knew you wouldn't stay in bed. I knew you couldn't resist the allure of Tony's tech. And I assure you, I'm certain she'll show you anything you want to see—when she wakes up. And if she chooses to give you an all access pass so you can tinker? That's her call. Until then, I'm here to tell you that there will be no hacking into my wife's programming systems and breaking into her lab on my watch," 3490 Steve said. He still looked like this was all a grand joke, which it probably was to him.

"How in the hell did you know I'd come down here?" Tony asked. 3490 Steve raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't marry my wife for her looks, or her wealth—or her gender. I married her for her mind, which I know quite well. You seem to be quite similar to her. And I know that, were our positions reversed, there is no way in hell Tony would be sleeping soundly by my side in our room—she'd be out, sneaking through the halls of the Other mansion, ready to hack into the workshop," 3490 Steve replied. "Go get some sleep, Tony, as hard as that may be for you to obtain. It'll be like Christmas when you wake up—only this time, you won't have found all the presents first." Tony was still reeling at the many implications of that short statement from the 3490 Captain America. He knew that every Christmas he would go hunting for his parents' stash of Christmas presents long before they were wrapped and would, of course, find them, which was _weird_ when it was 3490 Steve. It was like Tony had contracted amnesia and conveniently forgotten all the deep conversations he'd ever had with the man. It was an unsettling feeling, to have someone know things about you that you had never given them permission to know. Other than that, one other thing stuck out in Tony's brain.

"Gender?" Tony said. "The hell do you mean by that?" 3490 Steve looked amused again, that one side of his mouth quirked upward.

"You're a smart man, Tony, I'm sure you can figure it out. Good pseudo night to you," he said, and then he walked away. Of course, Tony knew that the lab was still guarded—JARVIS probably had orders to alert the Captain to any attempted break-ins—so Tony headed back to his room, his head reeling. _Gender_? This Captain was bisexual? Or at least, flexible? Tony wasn't going to lie, that was a shocker. Even this Steve had seemed straight as an arrow. He slipped back into bed, still baffled.


	7. A Wedding Story

The alternate Avengers did not stir until well into the afternoon, which of course was not going to help their universe induced jetlag, but Tony couldn't blame them—she herself had slept until four alongside them. She could have slept longer, but there had been a pleasant sensation at her neck, and she had woken, still half-asleep, to her husband's kisses. All in all, it wasn't a bad way to wake up. In fact, it was the way that Tony would prefer to be woken up every morning—but usually her alarm clock or villains plotting to destroy the world had other plans. Still, in that moment when Tony woke up, it was just her and Steve. There was no one else. Kate was not getting into trouble with drugs, there were no alternate avengers living in the mansion beside them—it was just her and Steve, in their own little world. They'd enjoyed themselves for a little while—too little a while, in Tony's opinion—but eventually had to emerge to face the world. After all, Tony had a whole set of Avengers to send back home.

Kate had gotten home just fine; Tony made sure to check on her in her room first thing after rising. She was still pissed off, but so was Tony, so it was an even trade. Tony had no idea what to do with her. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about the fact that she was lying to Steve—and not about something small. She was lying to him about the health of their daughter. She was lying about something that could get Kate killed. And that weight rested in the bottom of her stomach and had the unfortunate habit of twisting around sharply in her gut. He would hate her, if anything happened to Kate. But she would hate herself more.

Still, she couldn't tell the truth. If she told the truth, Steve would be forced to see Kate for the young woman she'd grown into—a wild thrill junkie with little concern for herself or those around her. He would never see her in the same light, would never put her on the same pedestal. Tony knew what it was to fall in your father's eyes, and she wouldn't put Kate through that. She couldn't. Nor could she stand to see Steve's heartbreak when Tony finally pulled the last bits of wool from his eyes, destroying the angel image of their daughter for him forever. So she held her tongue and hoped that it would all work itself out and not blow up in her face as it was more likely to do.

It was her fault Kate was this way. It was her fault, and she would be damned if two people she loved would be hurt by her own failings, damn it.

Peter was fine. Tony checked on him too. He didn't have much to say about his school day, but that wasn't unusual. Peter's knowledge had long since passed the academic capacity of his public high school, but he'd never wanted to graduate early. Tony could understand that. She guessed, by the lack of friends he possessed, that he didn't have the best time of it in school, being so small and kind and smart. Sending him to college early would be a mistake—it would only ruin the social aspect for him. Tony had offered private schools and home schooling, but Peter preferred to be where he was, so Tony didn't argue. Whatever made him happy was fine in her books.

Tony spent what was left of the afternoon in her lab, making preparations with the device that would inevitably send the alts home. It had to be tweaked, having sustained a bit of damage in the last few runs. Tony knew that Steve had mentioned something about Other Tony wanting to take a tour of her workshop, but Tony didn't have the patience for that right now. For the moment, she needed a distraction from her family problems. Because really, what was she going to do about Kate? She couldn't give her a longer punishment without arousing Steve's suspicion, but she wasn't ready to let her out of her sight and knew that she still wouldn't be a month down the line, either. But she couldn't keep Kate locked up forever, anyway, even if she could without Steve objecting. But—

Oh, this was exactly what she didn't want to think about. Tony turned her thoughts doggedly to the task at hand and did not think about Kate until it was time to emerge for dinner. Dinner, thankfully, was uneventful. The alts, better rested, seemed more accepting of their position and more comfortable in it. They felt fine asking more questions about themselves in 3490, which Steve and Tony were fine with answering. Peter and Kate even answered a few questions—Peter with enthusiasm, Kate with dry wit that reminded Tony so of her father. It was one of the only things that did, with Kate.

Tony could not shake off thoughts of her daughter after dinner. It had become impossible. She didn't even attempt to work on the universe transporter—she was too afraid she'd do something wrong in her distraction. She worked on a busted repulsor on Mark CIX instead. She didn't have to think much to finish that project. When she had finished that, she moved onto another nearly mindless task, and another, until Steve came down to fetch her. But Tony didn't want to go. She smiled and kissed him and explained that she wanted him to sleep but didn't think she possibly could, and he left without argument. Tony continued her work.

It was three in the morning when she emerged from the workshop. She wasn't tired, she just wanted a shower. She took one, and then, clad in a robe and her favorite silky nightgown (though not her sexiest one), she headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She took a seat at the table there and propped her Stark tablet on the table, looking up the effects of scopolamine. It was a hallucinogen, which frightened Tony. She'd taken plenty of those in her life, and it hadn't always been a pleasant experience. Not only that, but they were _dangerous_. Tony didn't know what dosage Kate had taken, but she knew that too high of one could kill her. Tony sighed, putting her head in one hand. She'd worked so hard, _so hard_ for Kate's entire life to insure that she would be safe, to insure that no baddies would be after her, to insure that the _world_ would be a safe place for her…and yet her danger comes at the hand of the very things Tony had once—and still—struggled with. It was punishment if Tony had ever heard of one, to see her daughter be ruined by the very things that had nearly ruined _her_.

"Couldn't sleep?" a soft voice asked. Tony was about to tell him why. Tony was about to spill all the beans, hearing that soft, sweet voice that she so loved. But when she looked up, it was Steve but it wasn't. It was Other Steve, his young face looking at her in concern. It still shocked her, how young he was. At twenty-seven, he wasn't much older than her Steve's oldest son, James. He still had a bit of awkwardness left in him, awkwardness that Tony could vividly remember smashing out of Steve with a healthy dose of MIT parties in Cambridge and clubbing in NYC. She had enjoyed rubbing that layer away, to see the man beneath, but now she appreciated the awkwardness of youth that this Steve still carried. She smiled wryly at him.

"Never tried, after sleeping until four. Are you going to use the same excuse, or are you going to tell me that sleeping for seventy years was enough for you?" she asked. Young Steve—and that, Tony realized, was probably a more accurate description for him than Other, for he was identical to the Steve Tony remembered, in every way—looked a bit surprised at that, but then seemed to recall who he was talking to. He gave a small smile and shook his head slightly.

"No, ma'am, I think I'll tell you I slept until four," he said. Tony rose, poured another mug of coffee, handed it to Young Steve and sat back down. Young Steve pulled out another chair and sat too.

"But," Tony said, "that would be a lie." Young Steve looked at her hard, and Tony laughed. "I'm not spying on you. JARVIS isn't tracking your movements. It was a guess. Ease up, Cap." Comprehension dawning, young Steve relaxed. Well, perhaps he wasn't wholly like her Steve. Her Steve was, even at that point, more relaxed than this Steve, who seemed wary of surveillance and not all together trusting. Her Steve had been totally trusting—or, if he hadn't been, he had never shown it to Tony. But then, her Steve had been an artist, and Tony couldn't help but recall that this one was an immediate Avenger. She sympathized. He'd been tossed from one war straight into another with no time in between to grieve, no time to recuperate, no time to remember who _Steve Rogers_ was without the Captain America moniker hanging over his head.

"PTSD is a bitch," Tony said after a few moments. "You could talk to someone about that. There's medication, too, though you never know how that's going to react to your metabolism. Still could be worth a shot." Young Steve frowned at her.

"You think I need to be medicated?" he asked. It had a bit of an edge to it. No, this was not her Steve at all. She laughed.

"No, you ridiculous man, I think you might sleep better once those nightmares disappear," she said. "But, sure, go ahead and read the worst in what I say if it pleases you." Other Steve had the decency to look guilty at that.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said. "I shouldn't judge you by the Tony of my universe. I know that." Tony arched an eyebrow.

"He'd have meant you needed to be medicated, huh? Well, it's not surprising. I didn't get along with my Steve at first, either," Tony admitted. Other Steve looked at her with an intensity that made Tony a bit uncomfortable. Had it been her Steve, she would have jumped him on the spot, but this wasn't her Steve, and it was difficult to remember that.

"Then how did you end up married?" he asked. Ah, Tony realized, this was what he was hoping for all along, when he saw her sitting alone in the kitchen. He wanted the story. He wanted it in all its romantic glory, wanted to know how a version of himself had managed to fall in love again, had managed to obtain that one thing he craved above all—marriage, children, a loving home. Well, who was Tony to deny him?  
"Well, I was pretty…not mean, but let's say petty…with Steve at first," Tony replied. "But eventually I took pity on him. He was living in this house, alone except for my parents—I was at MIT still—and he just…he was lonely. It was sad. I knew what it was to feel alone in this house. So I dragged him out to some parties. Introduced him to Rhodey so he'd have somebody in the military to talk to. Somewhere along the lines we became friends. He helped me through some tough shit. He got married, then divorced, and, well, after a near-death experience we both kind of realized that we'd been stupid for seven years. I had Peter and Kate in 2000, and we got married six years later." Tony touched her tablet, moving to her pictures. She found the wedding quickly and handed it to Other Steve.

"The first are from the wedding we did for the press—Iron Man and Captain America getting married, it was a big deal. So we did a public wedding in costume, and all our friends came, also in costume. But we did a private one, too, white dress and all, though I can't say the symbolism really applied with that one," Tony said as Other Steve flipped through the pictures. He paused for a long while on one in particular—it had been taken after the wedding, but still at the church. Steve was holding Peter on his hip, and she mirrored him with Kate. They were all laughing. Tony couldn't quite remember why; Peter had said something unintentionally hysterical, she knew, but the knowledge had slipped from her mind with the years. Steve would know, she thought. Steve would remember what Peter had said. Steve remembered every detail of that day. Eventually young Steve handed the tablet back.

"You're very bad at storytelling," he said dryly. Tony laughed, because it was something her Steve would say.

"Oh, honey, don't I know it," she said. She drained the last of her coffee mug and rose. "If you'd like a better story, you should ask Steve. I'm sure he'll put in many romantic embellishments and the story will take him at least four hours to tell—but I prefer short and sweet." Tony got up to refill her cup, and she could feel Other Steve's eyes on her back the whole time.

"The pictures were beautiful," he said quietly while her back was still turned. Tony felt a pang of sympathy for this Steve again. She wasn't naïve enough to think that she was Steve's One True Love, his only soul mate in this universe and every universe—hell, she _knew_ that she wasn't. There was one woman that would always hold a place in his heart that she knew of for a fact. But she still felt sorry for this Steve, who had just lost one of his and had no idea if he would ever find another. "Thank you for sharing them with me." Tony returned to the table. She put her hand on his, which visibly startled the man. She looked directly into his blue eyes, as she had done so many times before—and yet never before.

"I am not Peggy Carter, Steve," she said evenly. He looked bewildered by this obvious statement, but she shook her head. "I am _not_ Peggy Carter, Steve. Grieve all you need to. Go to England and get closure, if that's what you require. But I am not Peggy Carter, and my Steve learned to love again. You will, too." She stood up, kissed her not-husband's cheek, and left the room with her coffee and her Stark tablet, leaving behind, she knew, a shell shocked Steve from another world.


	8. ETA

By popular consensus that no one had spoken, the alternate Avengers met in the kitchen after breakfast for a meeting. 3490 Tony and Steve had both left for the Triskelion, and the kitchen seemed the most obvious meeting place. The other potential spot was the living room, but the potential for someone to turn on the television and therefore cause a derailment of the meeting was too high, so the kitchen it was. When they all sat, the Avengers looked to him.

It was not an unfamiliar position. Steve was very used to commanding the Howling Commandos and various other military personnel. But he certainly felt out of his league these days. After all, what could he say that would be of use now that they were trapped in an alternate universe? Tony could offer more solutions than he could. All the same, he cleared his throat.

"So. We're stuck in an alternate universe. We have no way of getting out of here without trusting our alternate versions to do it for us. We have no idea what we're up against or why we're here. Sound like a succinct summary?" Steve asked the team.

"You completely forgot the part where _you and Tony are married with two kids_, but yeah, sure," Clint said.

"They're not _us_, Clint," Steve said, rolling his eyes at his teammate's perpetual immaturity and trying his best not to think of the sweet feel of soft lips on his cheek. Clint looked at him hard.

"They're _versions_ of you," he insisted.

"We might as well get this elephant out of the room now," Tony piped up. "Yes, in some distant, far off universe, Steve and I have fucked. Are fucking. There is _physical evidence_ of the fucking in the form of children who share obvious traits of both parents. But that universe is not labeled 199999. Are we done now?"

"I'd hardly call this universe _distant_, Stark," Clint said with a smirk, enjoying this all too much.

"Be that as it may it has no bearing on any of our decisions," Steve interjected. "Which we need to make now."

"What decisions?" Tony asked. "What decisions can we possibly make? They've got us by the balls, Cap. We're not going anywhere without them."

"The Man of Iron is correct, Captain," Thor agreed.

"We can always choose to leave," Steve said. "If we feel that our safety is threatened."

"I'm not sensing any immediate threats," Natasha said cautiously. "They seem to be exactly what they say they are—other versions of us, trying to help. Commander Rogers told me today that they hope to have the machine to send us home up and running today. If all goes well, we'll be on our way home before dinner." Steve did not miss the change in title. He hadn't been aware that the Steve Rogers of this universe had moved up in rank, but, of course, it made sense. 'Captain' was only symbolic, anyway.

"Oh, thank God," Pepper said. "I already have so many meetings I'm going to have to reschedule."

"Let's hope tonight remains our ETA," Steve said. "And if not…we'll regroup from there." No one seemed to want to think of the 'if not' scenario, least of all Steve. First he was trapped in time, now he was trapped in an alternate universe. He really didn't have the best of luck.


	9. SNAFU

There was a _tiny_ snafu. Tony hated snafus, big or small, and if Tony was being honest, this was not a _tiny_ snafu. This was a giant, gaping snafu, and none of the alternate avengers were going to be happy about it. She knew she wouldn't be, were their situations reversed—hell, she wasn't particularly happy about it in her _own_ position. Everyone had gathered in the kitchen before dinner, ready for the table to be set and ready for the verdict to be read. Steve, _her _Steve, of course, already knew what it was. He had offered to deliver the news, if she didn't want to, but Tony felt like this was something that would sound better coming from her, the scientist, the engineer. She was still dressed in her business clothes—a white silk shirt, a dark navy coat, and a matching navy pencil skirt with killer high heels (shoes were, after all, a bit of a weakness of hers, one she shared with Pepper). Her hair was drawn up into a simple chignon, aside from one small curl near the side of her face that had refused to cooperate that morning. Still, even dressed to the nines Tony felt naked in front of these people. They stared at her so expectantly, and like they _knew_ her—which, of course, they didn't. They knew another her, one that wasn't even a her, and it irked Tony that these people were likely basing opinions of her on someone who she wasn't, someone she couldn't control. Nevertheless, she stood at the head of the dinner table, with both her family and the alternate avengers present, ready to deliver the bad news. She cleared her throat.

"So," she said, "I know you're all hoping to go home this evening. We were hoping you would go home this evening as well. Unfortunately, we've hit a bit of a snag." She watched as all the hopeful faces dropped into ones of dread. She forced herself to keep going. "The cosmic cube that was used to send you here did not have any regard for _how_ it was sending you here. It did the simplest thing it could—it ripped a hole from your universe and dumped you into ours. Unfortunately, when I say ripped, I mean literally ripped. There are tears in the fabric of both of our universes now, and widening the holes with another journey could be catastrophic. Now, it's not _all_ bad news. The good news is, these holes tend to repair themselves. The bad news is that we simply have to wait until they are both repaired before moving you safely back." Tony internally winced, waiting for the angry and/or devastated reactions. The only one to speak was Other Steve.

"How long?" he asked.

"By my calculations? About a year," Tony said. "You're all more than welcome to stay here, or at the Triskelion, whichever you prefer. We'll be providing you with a clothing allowance so you can set yourselves up more comfortably. We'll take care of you while you are here, and if you feel the urge to help us with Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. business, we're always grateful for it. But we'll still provide you with shelter and clothing and food even if you just want to take the year off."

"If someone sent us here," Other Steve said, "then they wanted us gone. Someone's plotting something, and you're saying we're stuck here for a year?"

"Yes," Tony said honestly. "I'm sorry, Captain. There's nothing I can do. I will not endanger my own universe further, nor will I allow you to endanger yours by going through anyway. Whatever damage whoever is causing in your universe right now, I promise you it is not as bad as what would happen if we tore that hole open wider." The room was quiet for a minute.

"Well, stock's about to take a dive, that's for sure. Can we get some wine with this dinner? I think I need it," Other Pepper said, resigned. Tony felt an enormous rush of relief and a tender love for Other Pepper. The others seemed to take their cue from her, and soon enough she and Steve had so many drinks orders it was a good thing Tony'd had a very short stint with a guy who was a bartender. She and Steve passed out drinks for everyone to go with their hardy dinner of steak and potatoes (Tony figured they could use the good food, after news like that). Tony even allowed Peter and Kate to have a glass of wine each—a luxury she never allowed for fear they'd develop a taste for it, but she did feel a bit grateful that her children hadn't made a fuss when they'd informed them that their guests would be invading their personal home for an extended period of time (though Kate had rolled her eyes and sighed heavily). Tony, therefore, was the only one at the table without any alcohol. She was drinking carbonated water instead. Among her own Avengers, this never raised any eyebrows, so she wasn't expecting it when Other Clint piped up:

"Are you pregnant, Tony?" he asked it politely, though Tony was not unaccustomed to Clint Barton asking things rudely. He obviously meant no harm by it, but Tony was startled. She could tell by his sudden wince that Other Natasha kicked him under the table.

"Excuse me?" she asked, inherently offended by the question. Her brain initially wondered if Other Clint was right, given her constant paranoia on the subject. _Was_ she pregnant? But, no, she'd been on time in her last cycle and her husband had been away or unavailable in the time since, aside from the other afternoon. So was she getting fat? Had she developed a _stomach_? But then Other Clint gestured to the water.

"No wine with dinner," he said, and Tony's brain caught up with her reaction.

"Oh, no, nothing so joyous, I'm afraid," she said dryly. "Not pregnant, just alcoholic. Sober for nearly twenty years, but you know how it goes. One glass of wine with dinner and you'll spend five years clawing your way back to sobriety. I'd rather forgo the dramatics all together."

"Mom forgoing dramatics, that's a new one," Kate muttered, but Tony heard it and shot her a look. But even Peter was holding back a grin at that one, so it wasn't a _withering_ look so much as it was an exasperated one.

"Shut up, Kate," Tony said affectionately, which earned her the smallest hint of an upward curl to Kate's mouth, which was as close as Tony had managed to get her to a smile in months. Tony was content. The rest of the Other Avengers appeared to be as well, as best they _could_ be with the news, anyway. Tony had to say, she was getting quite used to having them at the dinner table. It was entertaining, to have herself to speak with. Even if he was very different, Tony found that Other Tony had many of her same speech patterns, and she enjoyed exchanging insults and challenges with the man, all delivered via pop culture references that grew increasingly obscure as the dinners wore on.

Peter kept to the end of the table, speaking largely with Other Thor. They seemed to be a great source of amusement to each other—Other Thor to Peter because his Asgardian habits and ways of speaking had yet to be watered down at all, and Peter to Other Thor because, well, Peter was just naturally comedic. He had told Tony the other day that he "enjoyed the humor of the tiny Iron Captain child". Tony had decided not to warn him against calling Peter that directly in order to see the hilarity that necessarily must ensue once he did. Other Jane and Other Pepper seemed to largely keep to themselves, though Steve, her Steve, had engaged Other Pepper in conversation about art for a long duration, which had seemed to surprise her. Other Steve kept more to conversations with Other Natasha and Other Clint, discussing SHIELD, Tony thought she overheard. Kate was largely quiet, but when she did speak it was usually to produce a dry, sarcastic comment in one of the other conversations, always to the surprise of the Other Avengers.

Overall, despite the situation, the Other Avengers appeared to be taking the situation well. Tony wondered if she'd have to revise that assessment when Team Two met Team One—but, thankfully, that was for another day. When dinner was over, Other Steve began the movement with the Other Avengers to take the dishes this time. Tony tried to explain that all they had to do was put them in the sink because they had a maid service, but Other Steve was deaf to this. Tony didn't mind—if they wanted to make less work for the maids, that was fine by her. As she stood in the kitchen, feeling a bit useless and out of place, she felt strong arms wrap around her. She smiled and turned around, never breaking out of his hold. Tony wrapped her arms around her husband's neck.

"Looks like we've finished up everything we needed to for tonight," he said.

"Mm," Tony said noncommittally, thinking a bit guiltily of the small mountain of paperwork sitting on her desk back at the Triskelion. Did the World Security Council really even _read_ all those papers? Did they really _need_ them? Steve leaned down and kissed her and all thoughts of her job flew out of her head.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Steve asked her in barely more than a whisper when they parted.

"I think I like where this is going," Tony said in a low voice. She was very ready to _properly_ welcome her husband home from his last mission, and very excited to do so as well. Steve leaned down and kissed her again. Tony didn't care that they were still in the middle of the kitchen, or that the Other Avengers were about five feet away, doing dishes. It was her house damn it, she'd commit PDA if she pleased. Apparently, however, the universe didn't appreciate her actions. Her and Steve's emergency Avengers comms went off at the same time. They broke apart and Tony sighed in frustration. They both answered at the same time.

"Stark." "Rogers."

There was a giant squid terrorizing Tokyo, which sounded like a terrible B list horror movie to Tony, but duty called.

"Captain Rogers," Tony called to Other Steve. He looked up from the dishes, as did most of the Other Avengers. Her own Steve was already gone from the kitchen, grabbing his suit and his shield. "We've got to take care of a squid in Tokyo. Please let my children know where we've gone. We should be back sometime tomorrow." Other Steve just nodded. As she left, she heard Other Clint say,

"Squid? Seriously?"

Tony agreed with that sentiment. What was her life?


	10. This is Weird Right?

Steve was _not_ avoiding the Tony of his own universe. He _wasn't_. He was behaving completely normally. Absolutely nothing was changed. Nothing. It was perfectly normal that they'd been catapulted to another universe in which Tony was a girl and they were married. _Completely_ normal.

Steve left his room quite early in the morning, putting the coffee on and making up some toast and scrambled eggs. He was definitely not up early in order to avoid Tony. That had absolutely nothing to do with it. It didn't matter that he knew the man had no regular sleep schedule and would probably sleep until noon and thus not be in the kitchen at five-thirty in the morning. That didn't factor into Steve's thought process one tiny little bit. If Tony happened to wander into the kitchen at that very moment, Steve would be _totally cool with it_.

"Don't tell me you already ran six miles," Tony's sarcastic drawl startled Steve so badly that he nearly dropped his toast.

"Wh-what? No, I just—I get hungry. Early. Woke up early. It's—I—fast metabolism?" Steve tried to explain, cursing his twisted tongue. He was flustered. That he could admit to. He was _flustered_. Tony hardly seemed to notice. He had tunnel vision.

"Did you put coffee on? I'm stealing some," Tony informed him before searching through the cabinets until he found a mug and pouring himself some. Steve sat down at the table with his toast and eggs. Tony, who Steve wasn't paying any attention to at all, he was barely aware he was in the room, really, leaned against the counter, drinking his coffee.

Nope. Nothing strange. Just two guys hanging out together. Two guys who are married in another universe. _This_ universe. Not awkward. Not odd. Just another day.

"This is weird, right?" Tony asked, finally breaking the damn of tension in the room with his dry statement.

"Yup," Steve said. And that was all that was said on the matter until the 3490 kids came in to make breakfast of their own.

That was a relief.


	11. Chickens

Breakfast with the Rogers brats without their parents was supremely strange, Tony thought the next morning. It was a Friday, and some of the Avengers decided to take a long weekend, sleeping in. So, at the breakfast table it was just Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Steve, and the teenagers. Peter had obviously just rolled out of bed. He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. His brown hair was sticking up in every direction and he was still in sweats and an overlarge t-shirt. Kate, by contrast, was already completely ready. Her make-up was done with obvious finesse, her shiny black hair was half-up and free of frizz, and her uniform was crisp and clean. Peter ate Cocoa Puffs, Kate ate a grapefruit and a croissant. They might have been twins, but you never would have known it by looking at them. They didn't even go to the same schools, which Tony didn't understand.

"What's up with the different schools, anyway?" he asked bluntly as the thought entered his mind.

"Hawthorn is all-girls," Kate informed him. "It's a Prep school. Peter goes to Midtown Science—it's a magnet."

"Didn't want to go to private school—tried that once, really hated it—didn't want to go to nimma," Peter said by way of explanation.

"To _what?_"

"N-Y-M-A," Peter spelled out, his mouth half-full of cereal. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. "New York Military Academy. S'where James went." Tony stared at him blankly. None of this meant much to him.

"Oh, that's right," Pepper said, "he's your brother isn't he? I remember your mother mentioned something about another child."

"Half-brother," Peter grumbled, and wow if Tony didn't sense a whole heap of resentment off of that one tiny correction.

"It's also a safety thing. The different schools," Kate said. "James was the only one of us who went by 'Rogers' in school. At Hawthorn, I'm Kate Bishop. At Midtown Science, he's Peter Parker. We're kept out of the press to keep villains at bay. I mean, the press still knows we _exist_, they've just never gotten solid shots of our faces. Even if they managed it, there's a blanket gag order on any information involving us. Nobody in their right mind would print it." Steve was frowning.

"That seems…complicated," he said. Kate shrugged and sipped her coffee.

"So…how do you have friends, then? Does anyone know who you are?" Pepper asked, sounding concerned.

"Oh, no," Kate said. "Secret identities are created for a reason. Can't have friends over, that would be a national security risk—there's way too much sensitive info stored in this house. We've had parties before, though—Mom just always rents out a place; ball rooms, laser tag, under 21 club, Chuck-E-Cheese, whatever."

"But you can't share your personal lives with anyone?" Pepper asked.

"I mean, I can still talk about my family," Kate said. "I can still talk about my annoying twin brother, or my crazy mother, I just can't go into too much detail. And besides, we've got the other Avengers' kids to talk to. There's Torrun and Francis and Azari and Hank who are close enough to our age." Kate certainly didn't look unhappy or deprived to Tony, but Pepper still looked concerned. Kate looked Peter up and down.

"You _do_ realize it's 6:45, right?" she asked him.

"Shit," Peter swore. He gulped down one last bite of cocoa puffs and then took off like a shot through the house. Kate just sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically.

"_Boys_," she said scathingly. Natasha and Pepper hid smiles. She checked her watch again when a stranger strolled into the kitchen. At least, he was a stranger to Tony, and to the other three Avengers. His hair was so blond it was nearly white. He had a glint to his eye that spoke of mischief. He wore normal street clothes, just as Peter did. Kate grinned.

"Finally. You're such a fucking slowpoke, you know that? I thought you were going to be here at 6:30," she said. She grabbed her leather satchel from where it hung off the back of her chair.

"Well excuse me, princess," he said, mocking. "Your golden chariot got stuck in traffic." He glanced briefly at the Avengers, as if just noticing their presence. "I thought the Alts were supposed to leave yesterday." Kate sighed dramatically.

"'Supposed to' being the operative phrase. They're stuck here and there's nothing Mom can do about it. Tears in the universe, potential collapse of the multiverse, blah blah. Same old story," she said. Tony, and likely the rest of the team, didn't appreciate being spoken about as if he wasn't there, but the two 3490 kids didn't seem to notice or care.

"Unfortunate," the older boy said. "Ready to go?"

"_God_ yes," Kate said, standing up. Just then, Peter ran into the room, practically skidding to a stop.

"Barton," he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?" Tony blinked. _Barton?_

"Just giving your dear darling sister a ride to school," Barton drawled.

"Uh, Happy's taking us," Peter said, glancing quickly at his sister.

"No, Happy's taking _you_. Bye, Petey," she said, giving a little wave with her fingers as she headed out the door with Barton.

"Woah, woah, wait a minute, Kate. _Kate! _You're grounded. Mom will _skin you alive_—" He followed them out the door and into the hall. The Other Avengers could still see and hear them fairly well, but they were out of the room.

"For what?" Kate shot back. "Going to fucking school? Just keep your mouth shut about it, yeah?"

"I can keep a secret but _Happy_—"

"Isn't going to rat on me. I'm going to _school,_ Peter, swear to God," Kate said.

"Mom will kill _both_ of us if she finds out you're skiving your punishment and I covered for you," Peter pointed out.

"Well she's not going to find out," Kate said.

"I think you're really misreading Happy here."

"Oh my God, Peter, I'm going to be late, just _lay off_," she said.

"Yeah, _Petey_, lay off," Barton said, teasing.

"Shut the fuck up, Barton," Peter snapped, giving him the tiniest of shoves, though it looked like it probably took Peter some effort. Barton's eyes went dark. He shoved Peter, who staggered several feet backwards, out of sight of the Avengers in the kitchen. It sounded like he crashed into something. Kate smacked Barton on the shoulder, hard. Tony noticed that Steve's back was ramrod straight, and it looked like it was taking him quite some effort to stay seated.

"Don't fucking touch my brother, Francis," Kate snarled. "This is between me and him and it isn't any of your business."

"He's _making_ it my business," Francis snapped.

"Let's just _go_," Kate said, tugging at his arm. With one last dirty look at Peter, Francis left with Kate.

"Well _that_ was dramatic," Tony said at last, when he was sure they were gone.

"Should we go make sure he's ok?" Pepper asked. That worried look had taken over her whole face.

"And embarrass the kid? Nah," Tony said. "He'll be fine."

"Feels like every day's pretty dramatic around here," Steve said with a slight frown fixed to his face.

"Yes, perhaps it's a hint from the heavens—superheroes should never marry other superheroes," Tony commented. "They end up with bratty children." _Probably due to a lack of supervision_, Tony thought privately.

"Think that's the whole reason we're here, Stark?" Natasha asked, joking. "It's a great cosmic message against superhero marriage?"

"Who knows," Tony said. And _that_ was really a thought—who _did_ know? He wished he knew why in the hell they were sent here, and by whom, but there was nothing he could do to find out when he was an entire universe away, and it irritated him to know end. He also found himself getting exceedingly cranky since he had yet to poke around in 3490 Tony's workshop. He'd have to ask her when she got back today. He wasn't above getting down on his knees and begging at this point—it was only Friday and he was going crazy.

In order to keep his brain from rotting, Tony decided that morning to peruse the mansion's library. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it had been updated—3490 Tony had filled it not just with the classics and antique books that their father had been so fond of, but also with hundreds of science books. He picked one up on the theory of the multiverse and got to reading. Maybe 3490 Tony couldn't do anything, but maybe 199999 Tony could. He spent the morning reading the book while Pepper sat in the library with him, picking her way through a Jane Austen novel and sipping tea. It was a rare luxury for her, Tony knew, and he was glad she got the chance to kick back.

Around four Tony and Pepper left the library, made curious by shouts coming from the living room. Upon arrival, Tony took in the situation—an N64 was hooked up to the television, and Mario Kart played on the screen. Steve, Clint, Thor, and Natasha played while Jane half watched and half scrolled through a tablet.

"Did you just fucking blueshell me, Rogers?" Clint demanded.

"Suck it," Steve said in response, then let out a triumphant, "HA!" as his avatar overtook Clint's onscreen. Clint swore under his breath. Tony had not been aware that Captain perfect was even capable of saying such phrases as 'suck it'.

"Hey, who forgot to invite us to the party?" Tony demanded as he and Pepper entered. Pepper took a seat by Jane while Tony stood behind the couch, watching the screen.

"We thought you two were fucking," Clint said bluntly, then swore loudly again.

"What—_why—_nevermind_," _Tony said, sighing in exasperation as Pepper just glared at an oblivious Clint.

"STOP THAT ROGERS!" Clint shouted. Steve just let out an evil laugh. "How in the hell did you get _lightning_? You're _in the lead!_"

"I'd say I feel like I've been transported to an alternate universe, but…" Tony trailed off.

"Aye, the Captain is a ruthless foe!" Thor agreed with Tony's sentiment. "Already he has attacked me with several shells of red."

"Oh, hey, what's everybody doing—" at the sound of the voice behind them, Tony, and the non-playing Avengers, turned. At the entrance to the living room stood a young man who looked remarkably like Steve Rogers. His hair, however, was auburn, his face a bit more angular, and his body a bit more lean. Natasha crossed the finish line ahead of Steve, to many groans from the boys. "—here." The boy's expression quickly changed from one of curiosity to one schooled for blankness. Before Tony even knew what was happening, the young man had reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. He pointed it at Tony's head.

"Uh, guys," Tony said, putting his hands up in surrender. His teammates finally turned around.

"You have ten seconds to explain who the hell you people are and what you're doing in here," the young man said.

"Avengers!" Tony said. "We're Avengers." The young man regarded him coldly and removed the safety on the gun. None of the Avengers moved, hoping to soothe the situation before it escalated further.

"My Aunt Natasha has a small white scar on her upper lip. Uncle Clint doesn't go anywhere without his hearing aid in. Aunt Pep's hair was shorter by several inches last week, Jane, while beautiful, is at least twenty years older than this woman here, and _that—" _he pointed with his free hand to Steve "—is _not_ my father. And I don't know who the hell _you're_ supposed to be, since last time I checked Tony didn't mystically change genders. Start gabbing, shortstuff."

"Shortstuff?" Tony demanded indignantly.

"Ten," James said coolly.

"James," Steve said, surprising Tony and apparently surprising James a bit too. His eyes flickered to the other man briefly. "Stand down, soldier. We are _not_ your enemy."

"Nine," James said, more of a heated edge to his voice now.

"Alternate universe," Tony said. "We're from 199999."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" James asked.

"Uhh…JARVIS, can you back us up on this one?" Tony asked the air.

"Certainly, sir. Master James, these are alternate Avengers trapped in our world. They have been invited to stay here by your step-mother and father," JARVIS helpfully supplied.

"See?" Tony said, putting his hands back down. "Nothing to worry—"

"Hands _back up!_" James barked. Tony put them up, knowing that Natasha, Clint, and Steve were, at this point, thinking of several ways to disarm the kid. The unfortunate fact was that he was too far away from any of them to take him down before he would manage to get a shot off, unless they hit him with a projectile. Injuring, or killing, the kid was not a good plan or something Tony knew any of them wanted to do. "You could've hacked him. Think of something else."

"James," Steve said calmly, soothingly, "what can we say? What proof can we offer you?" James eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Telling me what you've done with my dad and Tony would be a good start."

"They're on a mission in Japan," Natasha supplied.

"Convenient," James said. Tony could see the glint of silver in her hand—a small knife she'd retrieved from God knows where. Tony didn't want it to come to that.

"James? Why do you have a gun pointed at the alts?" Tony had never been more grateful to see a sixteen-year-old girl in his life, including after prom night. She came up behind him, still dressed in her school uniform.

"So they really are Alts?" James asked.

"No, they're chickens, you've just been hypnotized into thinking they're Alts. Yes, they're Alts, moron," Kate said. James put the safety back on and shoved the gun into the back of his pants.

"Why doesn't anybody ever _tell me_ things?" James complained.

"Maybe because you don't live here? Just a thought," Kate said. She glanced at the gun. "You know, one day you're going to blow your dick off and I'm just going to laugh. Why are you packing heat, anyway, you expect to get jumped on the way here? I know Long Island is so dangerous in the peak of broad daylight—Brookville, especially—but I think you're a big boy with super soldier genes who can handle it."

"I was taking care of something for Coulson before I came," James said by way of explanation. He turned to the Alts, an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry. I can't say it's never happened that I've shown up at the mansion to find skrulls masquerading as Dad and Tony. Or killer life model decoys. Or _un_friendly alts." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Better safe than sorry."

"Hey, no hard feelings," Tony said smoothly, though he knew that Steve still seemed irked. Frankly with that track record, Tony didn't begrudge him the gun.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Kate asked.

"What am I ever doing here? Free food," James said with a teasing smile. He turned back to the Alts again. "I am truly sorry. Welcome to the 'verse, and all that. How long are you marooned for?"

"A year, says Tony," Steve answered. James whistled.

"Ouch," he said. "I think that's the longest we've ever had Alts here for. Hope you don't hate it here. I'm James, by the way, though you all seem to know that already." The Alternate Avengers settled down a bit after that. Clint hit the start button and began a new game of Mario Kart, which was a relief to Tony because the music of the frozen screen repeating over and over again was driving him nuts. He went and settled himself on the couch, ready to kick back with the rest of the Avengers and relax. They might as well enjoy their forced vacation while they could. But even though he was paying attention to the new game of Mario Kart (and had dibs on switching out with someone for the next game), he still had one ear to the conversation going on behind them. It wasn't really eavesdropping if they were still in the room, was it?


	12. Last Ramen Noodle

It had been a good long while since Kate had seen James in the mansion. In fact, the last time she could remember him being there was May, when he graduated from West Point. They'd held a reception for him in the ballroom. But since then, James hadn't been around, busy with his work in the army as he was. Of course, Kate was fairly certain that was just an excuse. He could have stopped by if he had wanted. So, she felt equal parts resentment and relief at her brother's presence in their home once more. James looked around. "Where's Peter?"

"He took his board to school, so I'm guessing he's at the skate park. Or just wandering around the city, who knows," Kate said with a shrug. She wasn't particularly happy with Peter. She might have overreacted this morning, but she didn't understand why Peter couldn't just mind his own business. "Why, did you come to talk him?"

"Nope," James said, emphasizing the 'p', "free food."

"Oh, please, like the army doesn't pay you enough? You wouldn't stop by for free food if you were down to your last ramen noodle," Kate said. "And you didn't bring your laundry, which, if you were here for free things, you would have done. Spill."

"Maybe I figured there'd be something good left over here? Pizza, steak—something that isn't dehydrated or frozen," James said.

"Not buying it," Kate said stubbornly, crossing her arms. James shrugged.

"Well, that's not my problem now is it?" James replied. Kate pouted. James laughed and tousled her hair, which earned him a livid glare and a slap on his wrist. Nobody messed with her hair. "Say, when are Dad and Tony getting back from Japan, d'you know?"

"Should be back for dinner," Kate said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Did you do something?" James frowned.

"Do something? Like what?"

"I don't know, get court marshaled? Knock up a girlfriend? Got your degree from West Point revoked?"

"Kate!"

"What? You never show up here out of the blue," Kate said defensively.

"So you assume it's bad news?" James asked. "Thanks, little sis. Glad to know you have such faith in me."

"So it's _good_ news?" Kate asked, interest piqued. James grunted.

"I wouldn't go that far, but it's news. And _no_, I'm not telling you," James said. Kate pouted again.

"But _Jamie_—"

"_No_, Kate. Dad would be so pissed if you knew before he did," James said. "I'll tell everyone at dinner. Assuming that they're here, of course." Kate regarded him for a long while.

"You're being sent overseas, aren't you?" Kate asked quietly.

"That's the plan," James said.

"You're on the front lines aren't you?"

"What use would I be as a super soldier if I wasn't, Kate?" James asked softly. Kate felt a fury rising up and building inside her.

"So what? You don't have to be _useful_. You don't have to get shot at more than the other guys just because you're a little faster and stronger," Kate said. James shook his head.

"No, Kate, I do. It's like Dad's always saying, with great power comes—" he started, but Kate cut him off. She was sick of it. She was sick of hearing it.

"No!" she said. "No, _screw that_. You don't have to do anything you don't want to." James gave her a wry grin.

"Well, actually, I'm signed on with the army, so, I kind of do," he said. Kate felt hot, angry tears welling in her eyes.

"Well, fine then," she said. "Go overseas then and get shot at and come home in a body bag. Because that's what's going to happen. And I am _so sick_ of all you people _risking your lives_ for people who don't even give two shits about it! I am so done with that! You know in the end, it's just going to be me and Peter. Just me and Peter and no one else, because you'll all be dead from incurable stupidity!" Kate could feel the tears falling onto her cheeks, but she didn't give a damn. She didn't care that James' expression was one of shock at her outburst, didn't care that she probably just sounded like a hormonal teenage girl on her period, didn't care that the stupid alternate Avengers were a few feet away and probably heard their whole conversation. She just didn't care anymore. She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room before James could say anything more. If she had stayed, she would have heard Tony mutter to his fellow Avengers,

"And the drama never stops…"


	13. Shipping out for England

Commander Steven Rogers wasn't one to be taken by surprise. He'd seen, well, what felt like just about everything, and even the multiverse didn't often surprise him. But coming home from the Japan mission and finding James sat at the kitchen table with Kate, Peter, and the Other Avengers was surprising. He hadn't seen his son since his graduation in May, and he'd seen him only scarcely before then. Steve knew his son avoided him as much as possible, but Steve didn't know how to reverse that. Father/son bonding time had simply never worked well for them. So he had allowed James his space, fearing that if he held on too tightly, his son would disappear forever and never come back.

Steve felt his hopes soaring at the sight of his son there at the table. He'd come of his own freewill, without having been asked or coaxed or coerced or even expected. Perhaps his strategy was working—give him space to stretch his wings, and inevitably he'd fly back home when the day was done. Steve prayed it was so. James stood and shook his hand as Steve came to the table. It wasn't a hug, but Steve would take it. James had always treated him with a degree of formality, due in large part to his military upbringing, but also due to the fact that Steve and his son had never developed a strong bond, at least not as strong a bond as Steve wanted. Hell, it wasn't even half as strong as the relationship he had with Peter. He hated that. But, at this time, he would take what he could get. James showing up at the mansion, shaking his hand—that was thrilling, really.

"I'm glad to see you here, son," Steve said warmly as they settled down to dinner. Other Tony, Clint, Natasha and Pepper were arguing at the other end of the table, which was really stretched in its capacity now. They would have to start eating in the dining hall. He didn't know what they were arguing about, though it sounded vaguely like car racing. His Tony was having a discussion with Other Jane and Thor about the multiverse. Kate was surreptitiously—or so she thought—playing Candy Crush on her phone between bites of chicken, and Peter sat next to James, sullen. Steve wasn't going to bring it up; he already knew why Peter was unhappy, and it wasn't something Steve could fix. He'd tried and failed too many times before. "How have you been?"

"Just fine, sir," James replied. _Sir_. James rarely called him dad. "The army keeps me plenty busy."

"I'm sure they do," Steve said. "Getting along with everyone fine?"

"Yes, sir," James said. He didn't elaborate any further, just dug into his green beans.

"Your superior officers treating you ok?" Steve asked.

"They seem to like me well enough, sir," James said. They both fell silent for a bit. Steve hadn't spoken to his oldest son in a month, and their last conversation had been restricted to a five-minute phone call, but they were both already out of things to say. Steve had finished most of his dinner before he spoke again.

"Any girls we should know about?" Steve probed gently.

"No, sir," James said, pushing at the remaining bit of mashed potato on his plate with his fork.

"Any boys?"

"Dad!" James exclaimed in surprise. Steve chuckled, a bit pleased that he'd shocked him out of his 'yes sir' 'no sir' answers.

"It's a perfectly legitimate question," Steve said. "Which you still haven't answered." James rolled his eyes.

"No, sir, nor will there ever be on that front," James said.

"So, no big developments huh? Well, that can be good—" Steve said, standing up to take care of his dish. The table seemed to be breaking up from the meal. James stood quickly.

"Actually—" he said, and Steve turned his gaze to him. "I have something to say. Tony and Peter should hear this too. Kate already knows."

"Did I hear my name?" Tony asked, breaking her conversation with Other Jane, which had lasted the better part of an hour.

"Yes," James said. "I have a—uh—announcement to make." He took a deep breath, which made Steve's stomach flip. James was nervous about whatever news it was—that couldn't be good. "I've got my orders. I'm shipping out three months from Friday."

_You get your orders?_

_Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow_.

Steve sat back down.

He knew this day was coming. Their country was still at war, and James, having been in military school since _kindergarten_—first at St. Catherine's, then at NYMA, and finally West Point—had been hell bent on joining the army. The day when he was shipped out overseas to defend their country was always inevitable in coming. Steve was, in fact, surprised it hadn't happened sooner, surprised he hadn't left immediately after graduation. But that didn't mean he felt prepared for it.

"I've been promoted to Captain as well," James continued, still standing. "I'll be in charge of a fresh company going in."

"James! Congratulations!" Tony said, smiling. "This calls for some bubbly, I think. Anyone want to help me get the champagne glasses? Oh thank you, Jane, Pepper—you too Kate, Peter, come on."

"Going in where?" Steve found himself saying. He knew he should be clapping his boy on the back for his accomplishments. He knew he should be giving him a speech about how proud he was, about how good a man James was growing to be—but only one thought dominated his brain: _where?_ James hesitated in answering, and the longer he paused, the more anxious Steve grew.

"Dwyer," James said at last. "We'll be stationed at Camp Dwyer." Steve felt himself go cold all over, like plunging into the Atlantic all over again.

"_Dwyer_?" he asked. "They're sending you to _Dwyer_? In charge of an entire company at _Dwyer?_" James shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"That's correct," he said.

"What moron authorized that assignment? They're trying to get you killed! That's the hottest zone in the war right now and they're sending in a Captain still wet behind the ears who hasn't ever seen combat? Have your troops even had a year of training? No, don't answer that, I don't want to know," Steve said, standing up. "I'm not having you and the rest of those men and women be cannon fodder. I need to make a few calls. There is no—"

"Permission to speak, sir?" James interrupted. His cheeks were tinged red. Steve gestured his acquiescence. "I requested the posting, sir."

"You did what now?"

"Sir, I wish to be where I can be most useful. Camp Dwyer is most in need," James replied. Tony returned with the others, glasses and champagne bottles in hand. She, and the rest, took in the tone of the room instantly.

"What?" Tony asked, setting four bottles down on the table. "What is it?"

"James here requested to be sent to _Camp Dwyer_," Steve said. Tony blinked.

"Oh. Well. I'm sure they'll be glad to have you, darling. Let's get you a glass—" Tony grabbed a glass off Kate. Steve suppressed a groan of frustration. It wasn't that Tony didn't know what Camp Dwyer was—it was just her reaction that bothered Steve.

"He's going to get killed over there," Steve said.

"_He_ can _hear you_," Tony said sharply.

"With all due respect, sir, I've trained my entire life for this," James said. "I've never known anything but military school, never done anything else. Men with less training and fewer qualifications have gone out to Dwyer and done fine jobs serving their country. I wish to do the same, and I will. Sir." The last _sir_ was a barb, and Steve knew it.

"You have _never seen_ active combat," Steve argued. He knew he was arguing. He actively ignored the infuriated warning looks of Tony, as she and the other passed champagne awkwardly to everyone in the room. The Alts were trying to make awkward conversation amongst themselves, Steve knew. He didn't care. It wouldn't be the first time they'd aired their family issues in front of them, and it likely wouldn't be the last. That was the difficulty with sharing a house.

"Neither have any of the men and women they're sending me with—who they're sending with _or without_ me," James said with emphasis. "I've got no right to do any less than that."

It was an echo, Steve knew. He'd heard that before—it came out of his own mouth. He wondered if he'd ever told James that story, ever used that exact wording—or if a younger version of his self, who was _not_ from an alternate universe, was staring up at him.

"I'm your father, James," Steve said, half-defeated. "I don't want you to get hurt. You haven't seen active combat. You don't know what it's _like_."

"And _you_ did? You knew what it was like when you jumped out of an airplane in dance tights with a prop shield and six weeks of basic behind you?" James challenged. "I'd say I'm better prepared than that." He'd dropped the sirs all together now. It didn't escape Steve's notice. But even if he intended it as an insult, Steve preferred it. They could speak as father and son, not as Commander and Captain. Steve sighed in resignation. He stood and put a hand on James' shoulder. James looked surprised to see it there.

"I'm proud of you, James," he said. "I just don't want you getting hurt. But you're in the army. Frankly, I won't like it if you're stationed _anywhere_ you might see combat. But I know that's what you want. Why don't we toast to you? You deserve it." Steve grabbed a champagne glass and held it up. "To James—may he continue to strive for excellence and succeed in all he does. And may he…live long and prosper." James rolled his eyes at that, and Steve thought he heard a chuckle coming from Other Bruce. He lifted the glass. "To James."

"To James!" everyone repeated, and the sounds of clinking glass filled the room. When the noises died down, there was a bit of an awkward silence, but Tony, as ever, was the first to break it.

"Well," she drawled, "Now the Alts have seen Kate partying, us arguing, and you two making fools of yourselves, I think it's Peter's turn. I'll just have to make a big deal out of it if you get second in the science fair, darling." Laughter filled the room—everyone knew Peter was perfect. James slapped his brother on the back.

He was the only one who wasn't laughing.


	14. A Delicate Game

It was Saturday of their first week when the 199999 had their first truly formal meeting. 3490 Tony was in her lab, 3490 Steve was spending the day with James, Peter, and Kate in the city, and so the house was empty aside from the 199999 Avengers and company. So they sat in the dining room, at the long wooden table, treating their meeting more like a conference than a haphazard get together.

"So where do we stand at the moment?" Steve asked.

"What do you mean 'where do we stand', Capsicle? We stand at the crossroads of 'completely fucked' and 'totally fucked' just like we did the last time we had a little team get together," Tony said. Steve frowned at the nickname but he had to admit that Tony had a point, vulgarity aside. They were still between a rock and a hard place.

"I think we should go," Natasha said suddenly. The group all stared at her. To be sure, 3490 had their secrets. Steve didn't figure that _any_ of the team trusted them fully—nor should they. But they weren't a major threat—at least, Steve didn't see them that way. They were helping. They were trying to help. And if they weren't, for some reason? Then Steve didn't understand their end game, keeping them cozily in their family's mansion on vacation. There was a remote chance that 3490 had orchestrated the entire thing. It was something Steve had considered, though he didn't think it likely. It was possible that they were plotting mutliverse takeover—or just takeover of 199999 for some reason—and wanted them pliant and out of the way, but for the life of him Steve couldn't think of a motivation for that.

"Because living on the streets of New York City would be so much better than living in my double's family mansion," Tony said sarcastically. "What do you think they're going to do, drug us and harvest our organs for nefarious purposes?"

"They _could_," Natasha said, completely serious. "We have _no idea_ what sent us here. And I think we're underestimating them. They might be a happy family—or happy-ish and slightly dysfunctional—but did any of you ever wonder _why_ they brought us to their _home_ instead of chucking us in a containment cell in the Triskelion for a year?"

"To gain our trust," Steve said, nodding. "It's pretty obvious. It might be naive but I don't think they really wanted any of us not to see the light of day for a year. Partially that might be a safety precaution—if we'd managed to escape, none of us would have been happy about the situation, after all."

"They want to gain our trust," Natasha repeated, her eyes intent on all of them. "Maybe they have good intentions, maybe not. We don't know, we _can't_ know_. _But we know they're trying to get on our good side. They're trying to ease us into compliance. It's _obvious_. And they can do _anything_ to us here. Anything at all, and we're practically helpless to stop them."

"We're not helpless," Steve disagreed.

"No?" Natasha asked sharply. "How do you think you'd stack up against your double who has twenty more years of field experience than you? How would _any_ of us stack up against our own other selves? Tony, how well do you think you'd fare against a woman you who has armor _coming out of her skin _when you don't even have a single _suit_ on you? That's years away from us. Lightyears ahead. We've talked to them, we know only a _fraction_ of what they've seen, and that includes several other universes, innumerable super villains, and fairly regular alien attacks to name just a _couple_ of things they've dealt with that we haven't. They've had access to alien tech and forms of battle we've just been introduced to. We are _out of our league_, Captain, and I think it's the safest option to _acknowledge_ that. Banner as Hulk might be able to tear down this whole mansion, and Thor might be able to summon lightning to our aid, but how quickly do you think this team would have those threats neutralized? My guess is _fast_." Natasha's gaze was intense and insistent. Steve knew she was right. She was right, but somehow he still trusted their counterparts, at least a little.

"Yes, all good points," Tony piped up, "but why, if they're crazy evil schemers out to get us, would they _take us home_? Yes, to try to get us to trust them, yes, to keep a closer eye on us—hell, knowing other me we're probably being filmed right now—"

"I took care of that," Natasha said coolly.

"—Ok, wow, scary and I should have expected that. Look, despite all of that, the question is why take us home? Their _kids_ are here. Their _children_. And sure, Kate's got daddy's super soldier genes and goes to—what did they call it? Avengers Academy? Some freaky school for wannabe superheroes? It sounds intense—anyway even though she's got powers and training, and ditto for the James kid, Peter _doesn't_. Peter's _helpless_. He's a nerd, through and through, complete with an entire lack of kinesthetic ability. He might be able to _Home Alone_ us and MacGyver us into some complicated trap, but if he didn't see it coming? That kid would be very easy to kill or kidnap. He's way vulnerable. And even Kate with her powers wouldn't stand a chance against our full team. Why bring us here if they were plotting something terrible? And why haven't they just _killed_ us? They could have done that at any point," Tony finished, but Natasha shook her head just as Steve's own gut was filling with a sense of foreboding.

"That is _exactly_ my point," Natasha argued. "Tony, think about it. Think about this for _five minutes_. If you were in her place, and you had vulnerable kids at home, would you _ever_ bring another, unknown team of Avengers into your house where they could get hurt?"

"…No," Tony admitted. "Not unless…not unless I had some assurance that there was no way they could _possibly_ hurt the kids."

"They know we need them," Steve pointed out. "They have us there."

"Sure, they have us there," Natasha agreed, "but couldn't we just as easily hold a gun to Peter's head and demand they help us? Demand they send us back through, universe holes be damned? It's a _risk_. It's a _giant_ risk. So _why are they taking it_?"

"Optimism probably isn't the answer to that question," Clint said gravely.

"But what plot could our counterparts have devised to protect themselves against us?" Thor inquired. "What would work against all of us, and our combined or individual powers?"

"I say we _run_," Natasha said. "We get the hell out of dodge and come back in a year, and _if_ they've been honest this whole time, they'll send us back, no problem."

"If we run they'll _never_ stop looking for us," Bruce said. "We're too big a group to travel together. We'd have to split up. In pairs or alone."

"Wait, _wait_, let's not get rash about this," Steve said, calling his teammates back to logic and driving them away from the flight response based solely in fear. "We need to _know_ more. We need to know what they know about us, what they think about us in their _own_ time."

"I can't hack the eyes in the ceiling," Tony said. He sounded embarrassed, and maybe ashamed. "Their…uh… _Vision_, let's call it that, has much more air tight security than mine does, to my shock. I figured my…Vision… was pretty damn secure but it's looking more and more like I've got tinker toys and legos. This Vision is…much more independent than mine, besides. He's really—mine is his own personality, and he's gaining more and more independence, but this one is his own _person_. He's sentient and thinking and feeling which—I'm not saying my AI is not capable, but my AIs aren't all the way there yet. They don't work for me because they like it, they do what I ask because they're programmed that way. Other Tony's AIs…it's not the same. I feel like beyond being _capable_ of hacking him it would be a…very ethically questionable thing to do."

"There are ways to get information without hacking, uh, _Vision_," Steve said. He understood Tony's desire not to alert the AI to the fact that they were discussing him. Steve wondered how much he could hear even if Natasha _had_ managed to cut the audio and visual surveillance in the room.

"The Triskelion's their hub as much as it is ours," Natasha said. "A mission there would get us the information we need. But I still think we should run."

"As a non-superpowered person I'm siding with Natasha on this one," Pepper said, to Steve's surprise. "We don't know what they're capable of, or what they're going to ask us for in return."

"But we can't just _leave_," Jane argued, impassioned. "If we leave who even knows if they'll help us when we get back? And besides, while we're here I can use their equipment to confirm the scientific conclusions they've presented to us. It might not help with motivations, but if they're lying that would certainly tell us something. And while we're here I can piece together their equipment and the science behind it so that we can _replicate it_, either here or back home. The science is too valuable to leave behind." Everyone knew how fascinated Jane was with the scientific advances in this world. She and Tony had both not stopped geeking out over the bits and pieces that 3490 allowed them to access.

"At the price of our lives?" Pepper asked Jane seriously.

"We don't _know_ that," Jane replied.

"Look, why don't we send a team to the Triskelion to find out what they know and then make a decision from there? This can wait a day or two. They've given no indication that anything is about to change. If things start looking shifty, we can regroup and go from there, but as it is we need more intelligence before we can make an informed decision," Steve said. He felt on edge now. He'd felt _relatively _comfortable before, given their circumstances, but now a weight settled on his shoulders as the very atmosphere felt subtly changed.

"A team will be too much. They'll spot a team in no time. I'll go. Alone," Natasha volunteered, but it sounded a lot less like an offer and more like a command.

"All right," Steve agreed. "Widow will go in alone and the rest of us will _wait_ for her intel before we act. In the mean time, act normally. Look comfortable. Be who they want us to be."

Steve's words heralded the end of the meeting, and everyone seemed to know that it was time to dissipate. Steve implored Natasha to restore the surveillance. He was uncomfortable with cutting it in the first place as it would make 3490 suspicious, but with any luck they would understand their need for privacy and not think much of it.

Oh, who was Steve kidding. They were playing a very delicate game, and only time would tell whether or not it would end up a deadly one for either side.


	15. A Family Outing

Peter hated these little family outings. Actually, scratch that, Peter only hated family outings that involved his brother dearest. He was especially not thrilled that his mother had opted to stay in the lab and abandon him—he would have been happy to spend the whole day talking shop with her. He had asked to stay with her in the lab when she informed them of her plans, but she had insisted he go along with his dad and siblings. Which was how he ended up sitting in the stands at a Mets game, ball cap tugged over his face a little bit too far, arms crossed and slumped back in the hard plastic seat. Kate shoved a hot dog at him, which he took and bit into, chewing thoughtfully. Kate was having a blast. Kate loved baseball. Actually Kate loved anything that held any hint of competition whatsoever, but she particularly loved baseball. Unlike their father, however, Kate had never learned how to enjoy a game politely, sitting and cheering the team on. She had a tendency to stand up and shout at the ref (who of course could not hear her, or any of the other fans who did so) and rant about bad calls to anyone who would listen.

Peter didn't know if James liked ball games or not. He sat stoically in his seat, clapping for the team whenever anything exciting happened but not doing anything else. He was silent. When they were kids, he'd been more enthusiastic about it, as had Peter. They used to get hot dogs and chew bubblegum and go for ice cream later in the day as a family (minus Mom, who didn't have the patience for sports). It was a day for junk food and screaming your lungs out and had once actually been fun. But then they'd both gotten older. James and Dad started fighting more frequently. James moved to New York for the military academy, and contrary to what _should_ have happened, they saw him less and less until he went to West Point and they hardly saw him at all. Whenever he _was_ around, he was busy being an ass to Peter or fighting with Dad or getting into trouble with Francis. Jamie had always picked on him, but when he hit his teen years that became _all_ he ever did. Peter got enough of that crap at school, he had no patience for dealing with it at home, too. Peter didn't know where his big brother had gone, but it seemed like he'd disappeared at the age of thirteen, replaced with an evil Skrull version. They'd loathed each other ever since.

Someone hit a home run. Dad and Kate stood and cheered and hollered. Kate jumped up and down and waved her arms in excitement. It was a while before either of them sat down again. Neither Peter nor James had stood at all. Dad sighed suddenly, turning to James.

"You don't like baseball anymore, do you?" he asked. James looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

"Not since I was thirteen, Pops," James said. Peter groaned internally. Every time he brought out 'Pops' instead of 'Dad' or even 'Sir' or 'Commander', it was a bad sign. It meant James was _in_ a pissy mood, and it never failed to put Dad in a pissy mood, too.

"Then why didn't you _say_ something?" Dad asked, exasperated. Peter tensed. He could see Kate doing the same in the corner of his eye. Here they went again.

"Oh, gee, I don't know Pops, maybe you never _asked_," James said.

"How was I supposed to _know_?" Dad asked. "You used to _love_ these games." Dad was only met with a glare from James. Peter knew that look. He kind of understood that look. He knew what his brother meant. _You should have just known_. He should have known him better, known him well enough to know that he didn't like baseball anymore, or at least had no desire to come to a game. Dad didn't know him well. _And whose fault is that_? Peter thought viciously. If James had bothered to come around in high school or while he was at college, if he'd ever just _tried_ not to fight with Dad, he wouldn't have that complaint.

"We could have gone and done something else for the day," Dad said. "I don't think Peter's having a blast either."

"M'fine," Peter mumbled.

"Well _I'm_ having a blast," Kate said. "Dad we should ditch these losers. I can't believe they can't appreciate a good ball game."

"I've got a strict no ditching family rule," Dad said, amused. He turned back to James. "Did you want to leave and do something else? This is our day with you James, we don't get those often. We want to do something you want to do, right guys?"

"Mmph," Peter grumbled.

"…But could we finish the game first?" Kate asked. James rolled his eyes.

"It's fine," James said. "I'm fine."

"But you're not having fun," Dad said. Peter hated that look that he had. It was _sad Dad_. James always did this to him. He hated him for that.

"Jesus, Pops, just drop it, I came on this little outing like you wanted didn't I? What else do you want from me? Let's just watch the damn game," James snapped. Dad fell silent, as did the rest of them. Well, the rest of them minus Kate—when, the next second, their team hit another homerun she popped right back up out of her seat to scream and cheer. Dad stayed seated, that look never once leaving his face. And Peter felt anger pooling in his stomach, and then frustration and anger on top of that at his impotence, his utter inability to do anything about the situation. He couldn't put a grin back on his dad's face anymore than he could put one on his brother's. He couldn't restore cheer to the ball park, couldn't turn it back into a place of sunshine and cheer and bubblegum. Only James could do that. And he never would.


	16. A Civilized Breakfast

Peter was annoyed. It seemed to be his default state whenever his big brother came for a visit. Thankfully, his visits were always brief, but James had decided to stay the whole weekend, and even over on Sunday night. He was still there on Monday morning. Unfortunately, Peter always ended up with a good reason for that default annoyance that had begun with none. The ball game had been bad enough, but that Monday morning after his brother's arrival, Peter's annoyance was, indeed justified.

"Morning squirt," James had greeted him. Peter could live with that. But it was his _next_ comment that really irritated him: "I see you haven't yet decided to stop re-enacting the part of 'geek' in every 80s movie ever. How's the whole 'virgin' thing working out for you?" Peter felt his nerves alight, but he kept them fairly well in check. His parents weren't at the table—predictably, they'd been called in the middle of the night to solve some great crisis and were absent. The Alts were there—well, Tony, Clint, and Steve, anyway—but they didn't count as parents. They didn't seem the types to rat, anyway, and mostly seemed to ignore himself and his siblings. Peter figured they freaked them out, coming from a universe where their parents were both guys, and all. Peter shuddered at the thought of discovering a universe where—God forbid—_Francis_ was a girl and married to James with three kids. That would be some fucked up shit. So he could sympathize.

"Screw yourself on a long pole, fuck face," Peter said casually. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alt Steve choke on his coffee. Alt Tony, however—who was, Peter had decided, a version of his mother had she never grown out of her twenties and was therefore a degree cooler if vastly less responsible—was smirking. James just laughed.

"Oh, sweet cheeks, you'll have to do better than that. What, can't think of any better insults than 'fuck face' in that big brain of yours?" James goaded, tousling Peter's hair in a completely non-affectionate manner. Peter slapped his hand away.

"I, being older than your mental age of two, refuse to participate further in this 'conversation'," Peter said, concentrating on his cereal—which happened to be Cinnamon Toast Crunch this morning because James stole the last of the Cocoa Puffs in his first offense of the day.

"Oh yeah, you're so much better than the rest of us," James said, rolling his eyes. "Tell me, Pete, how has that superior intellect of yours gotten you out of regular ass-kickings at school? _Oh wait_." The tips of Peter's ears burned. Kate, who had been engrossed in reading some sort of packet of documents for school, reached over and smacked James upside the head with it.

"Leave him alone, Jamie," Kate said. She didn't sound particularly bothered, and went straight back to reading her documents. Peter wasn't sure if he was grateful for his sister's intervention or embarrassed by it. "He gets enough shit at school."

"Oh, gee, I fucking wonder _why_," James said, laying on the sarcasm as thick as it could get. Peter's hands balled into fists and he saw _red_. He didn't care if James kicked the crap out of him—he was about three seconds away from punching him in the jaw. But from the other side of the table, unexpectedly, came a sharp reprimand.

"Hey, you three want to have a civilized conversation at the breakfast table?" Alt Steve demanded. For a moment, Peter and his brother and sister just stared, half-startled. It was, Peter thought, the first time an Alt had interfered or in any way made their presence known during a 'family matter'. Kate was the first to laugh, but James joined her and even Peter had difficulty choking down a snigger. Alt Steve at first looked confused, then _pissed_. But none of them could bring themselves to feel threatened.

"I don't think so, Pops," Kate said once she'd regained control. "Nice try, though."

"Gotta be deeper. More booming and commanding. 'Fraid you haven't got it down yet," James offered.

"I'm not trying to be your _father_ I'm trying to eat my fucking breakfast," Alt Steve snapped. It was the first time, Peter thought, that he'd heard the Alternate version of his Dad swear. This version of his father seemed generally more polite—though that was probably due to the fact that he was closer to the forties than his dad was. "I've never heard such blatant disrespect from children to their parents, or their elders, or _each other_ and you ought to have the common _decency_ to keep it down if you don't have the restraint to be kind or at least _civil _to one another." Peter, for one, felt thoroughly upbraided by the comments, and found himself absently stirring his remaining bits of cereal in milk. Kate looked chastised as well. James though—well, James just looked like he'd been issued a challenge.

"It's none of your damn business, Alt," he said. _Alt_ was practically a slur when he said it. It demoted him, Peter figured, if not to something less than human, certainly to something less than normal Avenger standing.

"James just shut up ok? He's got a point. We were being rude to our guests," Kate said, placating. Defiance still flashed in their brother's eyes. But he didn't speak further. He just stood.

"I have things to do in town. I'll see you this afternoon, Katie," James said. He shoved Peter's head down slightly. It wasn't exactly painful, but it wasn't comfortable, either. "Later, dork." With that he exited the room. Peter just grabbed his bag off the floor.

"You should learn not to listen to him, Peter," Kate advised him.

"Oh, gee, thanks, Kate," Peter said. "I hadn't thought of that one. I hadn't tried that one a thousand times over."

"You might ignore him but you're still listening," Kate said. She checked her watch, then grabbed her own bag. "See you after school." With that, she flitted off, leaving Peter to ponder perhaps one of the more profound things she'd ever said.


	17. Double the Pepper

The Avengers weren't long away on their emergency mission—Thor took care of the issue almost single-handedly before the others showed up. So around four, just before their children arrived, mature Steve and female Tony—although, really, Pepper could class female Tony as _mature_ Tony as well and it certainly wouldn't be wrong—returned to their home, tired and sweaty but in good spirits. While they had disappeared—to shower, they claimed, though Pepper suspected that was only half the story and did not wish to know the whole one—another Pepper had waltzed through the doors of the mansion.

"Tony," she called out. It was a tone of voice that Pepper recognized—it was exasperated and _done_. She held in her hands a large stack of papers, and a Bluetooth was permanently glued in her ear (metaphorically speaking; though, the way that mature Tony integrated tech and the human body, Pepper would not have honestly been surprised if her double had a Bluetooth implant). Pepper sat in the living room with Tony and the rest of the Avengers, minus Jane and Thor. Pepper had initially taken their near-constant absence as a sign that they were off having some much deserved couple time, but had been proven wrong the other day—Jane was having far too much fun at one of mature Tony's labs in Manhattan, studying the multiverse she had previously suspected existed but never before been able to pin down. Thor, desiring to be near her and himself moderately interested in Midgardian science, went with her whenever she left. In absence of anything else to do, the other Avengers of their universe had returned to Mario Kart. Steve and Clint were engaged in a head to head battle. When Kate and Peter arrived home from school, Peter sat down and joined them while Kate disappeared. Natasha read a book in Russian. Bruce was absent from the room, because video games tended to agitate him. Tony was busy disassembling a remote control because mature Tony had refused him access to her personal lab. That was not a conversation that had gone over well.

"But I'm _you_!" Tony had objected. "How can you not trust _me_?"

"You are _not_ me," mature Tony had replied coolly. "I do not inherently trust you or any of the other Alternates—let's clear that up quickly. Trust must be earned, and while you have so far done nothing to _violate_ my trust, you haven't earned it either."

"I'm not going to build a death ray in your lab, I just need something to tinker with. You _know_ I need something to tinker with," Tony had complained.

"If you require use of a lab, you can join Jane at Stark Tower in Manhattan," mature Tony had replied unsympathetically.

"But there's a lab _just downstairs_—"

"And it is my _personal _lab, and I will not have you fiddling with _my stuff_," mature Tony had said, her tone growing more and more annoyed. "You are _not me_. You built your suit what, three years ago? Four? I built mine _twenty years ago_. Do you understand what that means? Do you comprehend my full meaning? I have had twenty years you have not had to work on my technology. I have a modified Extremis virus that fundamentally rewired my DNA—and no, I'm not explaining it. If I let you in that lab you could either accidentally kill yourself, screw up my stuff, or create technology that you have not yet earned the right to. And believe me, that last one? It will kill you as sure as screwing with my Extremis virus would. So stay _out_. You can have a lab downtown—_your own lab_, and that's as generous as I'm getting."

That had been the end of that conversation, but _Pepper_ certainly hadn't heard the end of it. Tony, as ever, was pouting (metaphorically, once again, though he had the tendency to do it physically as well upon occasion). Pepper had tried to talk him out of the whole 'destruction of property of our guests' thing and dissuade him from destroying the remote control, but he wouldn't hear it. Nor would he go downtown to work in a lab there.

"It's the _principle_ of it, Pep," Tony had explained to her. Pepper didn't understand what this principle might be—the principle of not getting him killed, not destroying his intellectual integrity, or not destroying her property?—and said as much to Tony. Tony just grumbled and continued to fiddle with small electronics within reach.

So, considering the past two days she'd had with her boss slash dearest friend slash _child_, Pepper completely sympathized with the tone of her double's voice. Double Pepper was well dressed, as Pepper expected her to be. Pepper was jealous of the heels she wore (Louboutin, no doubt), and impressed by the perfection of her chignon. There was only one real, marked difference Pepper could see between herself and her double—and that had to do with the diamond ring on her finger.

"Have any of you seen Tony?" double Pepper asked, wandering further into the mansion. The Tony Pepper knew best looked like Christmas had come early, but a well timed glare from Pepper kept his mouth glued shut.

"She's in the shower," Pepper answered her doppelganger. "I'd imagine she'll be out soon."

"Hm," double Pepper answered. "Well I hope so, because—" At that moment, mature Tony came running into the room, wet, wavy hair streaming behind her. She was dressed only in yoga pants and a tank top as opposed to the usual fashionable clothing Pepper had seen her in. Mature Tony ducked behind Double Pepper, grabbing onto her shoulders as Steve entered the room at a jog.

"Pepper! Save me!" mature Tony pleaded.

"You're not getting out of this that easily," mature Steve said. Double Pepper sighed.

"You two never grew up properly, did you?"

"_Save me_," mature Tony repeated, still using Pepper as a shield against her husband.

"What did you do this time, Tony?" Pepper asked.

"Tiny prank," mature Tony admitted. "_Tiny_. This is obviously an overreaction. Save me."

"Usually if Steve's after you, he has a good reason," double Pepper pointed out. She stepped to the side, out of mature Tony's grasp. Mature Tony let out a small "_eep!"_ before running in front of the couch, putting it between herself and mature Steve (though, Pepper was wondering if she needed to rethink the moniker). She ducked to the left, and so did mature Steve. She ducked to the right, and he followed. They were playing a game of chicken, but it was pretty clear who would win out in the end.

"You've gone too far this time, Tony," mature Steve warned her gravely.

"You have _no _sense of _humor_," mature Tony replied. "And I for one—hey, is that Wolverine in the garden?" The garden, of course, was displayed by the window off to the left. Female Tony, after having said her piece, ducked to the right and ran. Unfortunately, mature Steve was neither gullible nor slow. Female Tony squawked as he caught her around the middle and lifted her up.

"Say it!" mature Steve demanded.

"Never!" female Tony said, kicking her legs ineffectually as her arms were pinned to her sides by his.

"Say it!" Steve demanded again.

"I will not violate my principles—agh!" female Tony started laughing hysterically, and the cause was apparent—mature Steve was tickling her. "Stop! St-stop!"

"Not until you say it!" mature Steve insisted.

"E-ev-EVIL!" female Tony gasped out between laughs.

"Say it!"

"N—ah! Fine! Fine! Uncle!" female Tony said, gasping for air. "Metallica is the best, Black Sabbath sucks." Mature Steve, satisfied, finally put her down and stopped his tickle attack. "You're a low down, dirty rotten—"

"I'm not the one who replaced every Metallica song on my iPod with Black Sabbath," mature Steve pointed out.

"I was doing you a _favor_," female Tony whined.

"Wow, all right then, not that I haven't been thoroughly entertained by this beautiful display of maturity, but I have some patents I need you to sign, Tony," Double Pepper cut in.

"Ugh, paperwork. Paperwork's boring. Why don't you ever come see me for _fun_ things anymore, Pepperoni?" female Tony pouted. It was a pout that Pepper recognized, though she hadn't seen it on female Tony before. Double Pepper raised one eyebrow.

"Might it have something to do with the fact that I'm CEO of your billion dollar company while you run a scary government organization and occasionally play super hero while we both try to balance family lives?" Double Pepper asked.

"Ugh, boring," female Tony said. "You and I need a spa day sometime soon. Pencil it in somewhere in your schedule and I'll work around it." Female Tony took the paperwork from Pepper, flipping through it. "Can I get this back to you tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning would be perfect," double Pepper said.

"Oh, Mom, I have something for you to sign too," Peter said as Steve crossed the finish line in the game to Clint's despair. Peter jumped up off the couch and rummaged in his backpack, which leaned against the edge of the TV cabinet. He pulled out a slightly crinkled bit of paper and handed it to his mother. "Field trip permission form. I have to turn it in by tomorrow or they won't let me go. I was supposed to turn it in last week but I forgot about it."

"To _Oscorp_?" female Tony asked. "You have got to be kidding me. Why aren't they visiting _Stark_ Industries? Why _Oscorp_?"

"Because Stark Industries doesn't perform any genetic experiments and Oscorp does and this is for my biology class?" Peter answered.

"Well, before you go just know that Norman Osborne is sleazy as hell, and frankly I have severe reservations about the ethics behind about ten percent of their projects. Also they suck," female Tony added the last bit for good measure. She plopped her whole pile of paperwork down on an end table, to be tended to at a later point. "Are you sticking around for a bit, Pepper?" Double Pepper glanced down at her watch. Pepper was not surprised to find it identical to the one that she herself was wearing at that moment.

"I have a bit of time at the moment," Double Pepper said. "Are you going to introduce me to your guests?"

"What? Oh, sure," female Tony said, as if only just realizing their presence. "They're from Earth 199999. Names are the same. The guy who looks like a guy version of me is unsurprisingly a guy version of me. Look what a handsome couple they make!"

"Not a couple," Pepper said in unison with Tony.

"Good," double Pepper said, looking amused. She locked her gaze on Pepper, who felt suddenly like a deer in headlights. "I'd hate to have give my condolences to you."

"_P-e-p_," female Tony complained, drawing her name out in a whine. "I'm not _that _bad. Besides they would make a good couple. I've always said it was a shame you're straight as an arrow. We could have been _lovely_, you and I."

"You would have driven me to an asylum by now, had that been the case," Double Pepper said, amused. "I think Happy and I make a better pair."

"You're so mean to me," female Tony said, with no note of actual offense in her voice. "Coffee now?"

"I have time for coffee," double Pepper agreed. "Nice meeting you all." As soon as double Pepper and female Tony left the room, Pepper's Tony piped up,

"_Two_ Peppers. _Two_ Peppers. Why hadn't I thought of this before?"

"You don't even have _one_ Pepper," Pepper pointed out.

"But—"

"No, Tony."

"_Please_—"

"Tony, no."

Tony pouted. Pepper sighed. Often it occurred to her that her boss was a very large child. She had, long ago, convinced herself that this was all that Tony Stark could ever be, that it was an intrinsic, immovable part of himself and was, admittedly, part of his charm. But as mature Steve clapped his son on the shoulder and invited him to the garage to continue work on a bike they were fixing up together, the son he'd had with _Tony Stark_, it occurred to Pepper that this was not necessarily the natural order of things. And a small seed of discontent burrowed into her belly, almost unnoticed by her in that moment. It was a seed of jealousy—jealousy for double Pepper and the shiny ring on her finger with the promise of a different life. She was jealous of her clearly more level-headed boss, her more stable friend, her work life that obviously didn't entirely consume her social one.

Pepper Potts had been happy with her crazy life. She had been happy with what she had. She had never envisioned the possibility that she could have _more_. But Pepper had seen the light. Pepper had seen _more_. And Pepper Potts desperately coveted it.


	18. Existential Realizations

Peter Parker, like Pepper Potts (though of course he would never see the parallel), coveted another life. In this particular instance, as he lay on the ground, his eye throbbing and his abdomen hurting so badly he could puke, he coveted a very specific life. If he was James, this wouldn't ever happen. If he was 6'2", broad shouldered, possessed the strength of ten men, conventionally handsome, openly the son of Captain America—well, Flash would have gone running instead of deciding to beat his face in.

But as he got up and spotted, far across the parking lot, an alternate version of his mother, his father, and several of his favorite 'aunts' and 'uncles', witnesses to his ultimate humiliation, Peter Parker didn't want James' life. He just wanted to disappear from his own.


	19. Putting it Bluntly

Breakfast had become an event in the Stark-Rogers household. Perhaps it always had been—Tony had no idea. But it was _certainly_ an event now. The three Rogers children ate and argued with gusto; Tony noticed that, in the presence of their parents, the fighting was much more contained, and at the first sign of a truly unkind word, 3490 Steve would jump in with a warning and a steely look. He had an iron grip on the kids when they were all together, and it really was no wonder why, considering what Tony, Steve, and Clint had witnessed the previous day. Tony's female double, for her part, didn't seem to take much notice of her children's antics, instead spending most of breakfast glued to a tablet. Occasionally she would, without looking up, pop up with a comment, but never a rebuke.

The kids were not, however, the only lively ones at the table. Thor always made breakfast interesting, considering that he could drink a whole pot of coffee himself and eat as much in one meal as Tony did in several days. On this particular morning, there had been only one packet of strawberry PopTarts left in the cabinet. It created a crisis situation in which Kate crossed her arms and stared at Thor until he handed it over. It was obvious that, while he was happy to do the 'honorable' thing and give the PopTarts to the young girl, it pained him to do it. James and Peter had nearly engaged in a fistfight over the last piece of bacon (which Natasha then snatched whilst they were arguing and smiled as she ate it, as if _daring_ them to say something; 3490 Steve looked grateful for her devious intervention). 3490 Tony made a note to J.A.R.V.I.S. to buy double of all breakfast items for the foreseeable future to avoid disasters. Tony personally, and his counterpart 3490 Tony, was content with just drinking coffee for breakfast. 3490 Tony, however, had 3490 Steve putting a plate in front of her and stubbornly adding eggs and an English muffin to it. Pepper, on the other hand, had long since given up trying to introduce Tony to healthy eating habits and left him with his coffee in peace.

As soon as the clock hit 6:45 exactly, all the kids were out the door—though where James disappeared to during the day, God only knew—leaving just the Avengers and their parents at the (far more peaceful) table. 3490 Steve left the table shortly after the children did to make a work related call, but everyone else still sat at the table, finishing coffee and making idle conversation.

"So, what are everyone's plans for the day?" 3490 Tony asked.

There was no one consensus. Thor and Jane were headed to the lab downtown; Bruce had decided to go with them. Natasha and Clint wanted to get some work done in the gym, and Steve wanted to join them. Tony and Pepper had no plans, but would likely end up in the library. Or maybe they would go out into town and do something. It was all up in the air, really. 3490 Tony listened politely, and then smiled.

"You know," she said, "after most of the other Avengers moved out, we didn't really keep this gym up to date. We've got _all_ the toys at the Triskelion gym. Downtown. You should maybe check it out. Oh, and Tony, Pepper, there is this _wonderful_ spa on the first floor; the masseuses are _magic_, I swear. Is that something that guys do with non-spouses? I don't really know, but you should really take advantage of it anyway. And then maybe go for lunch? I recommend the SkyLight restaurant at the top of Four Freedoms Plaza. It's really very beautiful and the food is amazing. Five Michelin Stars and everything. Great view."

"Oh, well, we'll have to go sometime then," Pepper said.

"Today," 3490 Tony said. "Today is a _great_ day to go. Why not go today? Carpe Diem and all that."

"But we don't have reservations," Pepper said.

"Oh, that's a non-issue. I can take care of that. Go, have fun, enjoy your day," 3490 Tony said. "In fact, _all_ of you should go for lunch, too. Have you guys tried Pop Burger? It's pretty fun to watch Thor and Steve eat there, the burgers are _so tiny_—"

"Are you trying to get rid of us?" Clint asked bluntly. 3490 Tony blinked.

"I'm being very _nice_ about it," she said in her own defense, not denying the accusation in the least.

"But you're kicking us out," Tony stated more than asked. 3490 Tony shrugged.

"That's the long and short of it, yes. I'd like you to be out of the house until three, if you can," she said. She reached into her back pocket and threw down a black credit card on the table. "Go out. Have fun. Enjoy yourselves. Oh and, can you take this to Peter while you're out? He forgot his permission form. He goes to Midtown Science." 3490 Tony handed Pepper the slightly crinkled and well-folded form, also from her pocket. "Just stay out of the house for a bit."

"But why?" Steve asked. Tony rolled his eyes at the naïveté of the good Captain.

"Well," 3490 Tony said, deadpan, "if I must put it bluntly, you all interrupted my date night with my husband. I had not seen him in three weeks before you arrived, and before that we'd been criminally busy for a month. So today I've cleared both our schedules—a fact he should be discovering right around now—and I intend to fuck my husband until he screams. Preferably several times. Now, I personally don't give a fuck what you all do or don't know about our personal lives because really, you're all up in them anyway. But I think that my husband's delicate sensibilities would never allow him to look any of you in the eye again, were you still around. Capisci?" Steve had reddened to the point of being a tomato. Tony was impressed that none of the other Avengers seemed at all fazed, though Jane had a hint of a blush.

"Yes ma'am, understood," Steve mumbled.

"Good," 3490 Tony said. She finished off her coffee and stood, heading to the sink to put it away. 3490 Steve walked into the kitchen then, a cell phone in his hand and a confused expression on his face.

"Tony, why did you clear my schedule today? I had _work_ to do," he said.

"Reasons," was all 3490 Tony said before she flitted out of the kitchen abruptly. 3409 Steve looked at the avengers. The avengers looked back at 3490 Steve.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" he asked, bewildered. They all turned back to their breakfasts and conversations quickly. A little _too_ quickly. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Tony," he called out, "Tony _what did you say to them_? Tony!"

The avengers could hear maniacal laughter coming from the hallway.


	20. Eat It

It took a while for the Avengers to get organized to leave. By the time everyone was ready, it was ten in the morning already, and 3490 Tony was practically shoving them out the door. 3490 Steve still seemed oblivious to his wife's intentions, which Tony found hilarious. As the Avengers were all headed in the same direction, they all took a stretch limo into town. As a stretch limo was not a car parked at the Stark Rogers household on a daily basis, Tony deduced that his doppelganger had put quite a lot of thought into planning the day. Since they were all taking the same ride into town (driven, of course, by Happy, Pepper's husband, who looked _nothing_ like the Happy Tony knew but weirdly still had his personality), they were _all_ going to stop at Midtown Science to drop off the form for Peter, though they had all agreed that the only ones who would be allowed to physically drop the form off in the school would be Tony and Jane, as neither of them were particularly recognizable.

In the mean time, they discussed their plans in very low voices, well aware of Happy in the front seat, even if he was cut off from them. Natasha's mission the previous morning had been somewhat successful. She had managed to obtain files on them but had been caught in the act.

"I knew I would be," Natasha admitted. "They had security measures we don't. I wasn't really trying to be subtle anyway, they had to expect this at some point if Rogers is half the tactician he seems to be."

"Then what was the point?" Bruce asked, frowning. "If they know we'd be after our files, they must have planted them there."

"One, now we know what they _want_ us to think they know or think, two—Natasha tell them what you told me," Steve said.

"I didn't just get a look at _our_ file. I was looking for _other_ universes. I figured they'd be more likely to forget to edit those," Natasha said.

"And?" Clint asked.

"I didn't find much," Natasha admitted. "Something about Earth 616 spying on them—how they figured out the whole multiverse puzzle in the first place. Something about Earth 1610 coming for a visit—it didn't sound particularly pleasant. There were a couple of other universes mentioned, nothing particularly noteworthy, _except_ Earth 525."

"What's so special about 525?" Jane asked.

"I don't know," Natasha said. "That's the thing. Half the file was redacted. Most of it was blacked out. There's an account of 525 arriving unexpectedly and then—nothing. In my experience a blacked out file never means anything good."

"But they worked successfully, peacefully, with the other groups?" Clint asked. Natasha nodded.

"As far as their files say, anyway," Natasha said. "We need to figure out our next move."

"Later," Steve said as the limo stopped. "Somewhere that isn't the mansion or Tony Stark's limo."

They pulled up into the parking lot of a nice looking school. There was a fence around the edge, but that seemed mostly due to the fact that the students were allowed outside, rather than any sign that it was a penitentiary atmosphere. There was a nice set of picnic tables off to one side, and some students appeared to be having lunch. Other students, however, populated a scene Tony was not unfamiliar with. Tony opened the door to the car and stood up as the other avengers peered out the window.

"What is going _on_ over there?" Steve asked.

A cluster of students stood in a circle with hardly any gaps, all chanting one phrase over and over again:

"EAT IT, EAT IT, EAT IT, EAT IT." Tony moved around a bit until he saw a gap in the circle he could look through; some giant of a kid held another boy upside down, smashing his face into a plate of food. Tony felt relief when he realized it wasn't Peter. Steve got out of the car, coming to stand where Tony was.

"Steve, get back in the car," Tony said. "If you get spotted—"

"What are we supposed to do? Just stand here?" he asked.

"Uh, duh," Tony said, raising an eyebrow. "They're high school kids. They have to work it out themselves. They don't need Captain Truth, Justice and the American Way running over to save a kid from bullying. You wouldn't be doing him any favors, Cap." Steve didn't argue further, but he didn't move from his spot, either. Natasha and Clint suddenly appeared, though Tony had never heard them leave the car. Clint whistled.

"Sucks for _that_ kid," he said. Over the noise of the crowd, Tony could hear a single voice shouting:

"Eat your vegetables Gordon, come on!" said the voice. "Hey Parker, get a picture of this! Come on!" Tony wondered what kid had been elected photographer when he heard a familiar voice, much fainter than the other.

"I'm not gonna take a picture Flash, come on, put him down. Gordon, Gordon, don't eat it. Don't eat it," said Peter. Oh yeah, Tony remembered with a start. At school, his name was Parker. Peter stood at the edge of the crowd, his oversized hipster camera slung around his neck. Tony had called it that the first time he saw the scrawny son of the Captain running off to school with it. Peter had replied that he might be a hipster, but at least he didn't need a red and gold suit to compensate for anything. Tony had sputtered at his sass, not expecting it. 3490 Tony just laughed.

"Take the picture, Parker," said the nasty kid—whose name was apparently _Flash_—a little more forcefully.

"Put him down, Flash," Peter responded in kind, more firmly this time. Even from a distance, Tony could tell that the other boy was getting more agitated. His movements got a bit harsher.

"Take the picture," Flash ordered this time.

"Put him down," Peter said, shouting it this time, "_Eugene_."

Well, that explained the whole _Flash_ thing, anyway.

Flash threw the other kid to the ground. Peter moved forward, protesting, but before he could say much of anything Flash landed a right hook to the side of his face. It sent Peter sprawling to the ground. Steve moved forward, but Tony just grabbed one of his biceps.

"You'd only make it worse," Tony hissed at him. Steve didn't look happy about it, but, perhaps for the first time, he seemed to agree with Tony. He stayed put.

"GET UP, PARKER!" Flash shouted. It was, in fact, exactly what Peter was attempting, but as soon as he'd made it to his hands and knees, Flash swung down and punched him in the gut, sending him right back to the ground. Tony winced in sympathy. The kid was taking a _beating_. "GET UP PARKER, COME ON!"

"I'm still not taking the picture," Peter wheezed out. It was barely audible from where they stood, but Tony caught it. In a rage, Flash kicked him in the ribs. Peter hit the pavement again, and ended up rolling over and then onto his side.

"STAY DOWN, PARKER," Flash roared. "WHO'S NEXT? WHO ELSE WANTS A PIECE OF—" Before Flash could find another 'volunteer' for a beating, a pretty blonde girl interrupted him. She spoke with him briefly, catching him off guard, distracting him from Peter who was still lying on the ground, doubled over in pain. The bell rang and she steered him towards class, sparing a look behind her for the boy still on the ground. To add insult to injury, some kid casually kicked Peter's camera as he passed. Tony's blood boiled at that simple gesture. As the crowd cleared, even Thor, Jane, and Pepper got out of the car.

"Will the little midgardian recover quickly from this attack?" Thor asked, obviously concerned.

"Not quickly, no," Steve replied, a hard expression on his face. "I think that kid broke a rib or two with the kick—Peter should have gotten up before now." As they spoke, Peter slowly began to move; when his body contracted, moving his ribcage a bit much, the avengers heard a pained grunt. He scrabbled for his broken camera and sat there, examining the back of it briefly, checking to make sure none of the essential parts were broken. He closed the flap and started to stand—and as his eyes came up, they fell on the Avengers. He stood there, staring for a moment. Tony took the form from Jane.

"I've got this, guys," he said. He shoved his sunglasses down over his eyes and opened the gate in the fence, which was for some reason—laziness, probably—unlocked. Peter still stood, waiting, and looking mildly horrified. Tony just waltzed over to him and shoved the form at him. Peter took it. "Permission form. Your mother wouldn't let us leave the house without it."

"Thanks," Peter muttered.

"You should learn karate," Tony said. "It only takes one 80s training montage and then boom, you're a black belt." Peter just looked at him, then nodded, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, thanks, helpful," he said. He flipped up the hood of his black sweatshirt and then headed off—but he paused just before he left and turned around. He looked at Tony, and the look was so pained, so humiliated, that Tony felt a bit of second hand embarrassment for the kid. "Look, just, don't say anything to my parents, yeah? I'd appreciate it."

"My lips are sealed," Tony said. It didn't matter. As Peter walked off, wincing slightly whenever he moved the wrong way, Tony knew that he wouldn't have to say a damn thing. His parents would know the moment they saw him. He headed back to the Avengers. Steve regarded him with scrutiny.

"Did you tell him to seek medical attention?" he asked. Tony slid into the limo.

"Nope," he said. Steve frowned, following in behind him. The rest of the team followed his lead, as usual.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because there's no way that kid's going to the school nurse. She'll ask a bunch of questions he doesn't want to answer. Doesn't matter what I tell him. Besides, if he's got broken ribs, there's nothing they can do for him besides pain pills anyway," Tony pointed out. "My saying anything wouldn't be worth a damn to that kid. Best solution was to give him his form and get the hell out, Capsicle." Steve's expression darkened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Pepper cut in.

"His parents will take care of it when he gets home," she said. Steve's mouth shut. Yes, his parents would take care of it. Which neither of them was. Tony knew sometimes, looking at Peter or Kate, he forgot that, which, Tony figured, must mean that Steve had an even harder time. But after Pepper's gentle reminder, he said nothing more on the subject. The rest of the short ride to the Triskelion was spent in silence.


	21. Amateurs

Tony highly valued her alone time with her husband. She never got even half of what she wanted, so this? This peace and tranquility? This uninterrupted period to just _be_ with Steve?It was perfect. It also happened to be the perfect opportunity to talk about the Alternate Avengers situation without fear of prying ears—either theirs or other members of SHIELD. And as romantic as Tony and Steve were—well, they were also pretty damn dedicated to their mission.

"Hill mentioned that Alt Romanov showed up at the Triskelion yesterday morning," Steve told his wife, running a hand through her long, dark hair.

"Mmm," Tony said. She was draped across his bare chest, happy to just snuggle against his warmth. Steve was always warm.

"Via the air ducts," Steve clarified. Tony chuckled.

"Of course she did," Tony said. "And?"

"I think she wanted to know what we knew about them. She dropped into the control room after throwing tear gas through the air vent to vacate the place. A bit obvious for Romanov, but I suppose she was doing her best to avoid casualties. She hacked one of the computers and downloaded the file we made up for them," Steve said. He traced circles on her back with his fingers, applying a light, soothing pressure. Tony closed her eyes.

"Well that's fine then," she said. "It's not like we wrote anything actually relevant down. Did Hill let her clear the building?"

"Our Natasha intercepted her and give her a warning. Told her double she wouldn't _turn her in_ as such, to either of us, because she understood the position her double was in," Steve said. "Seemed to work just fine."

"Good. The last thing we need is a rogue Romanov," Tony said in all seriousness.

"Think she _will_ go rogue?" Steve asked. She opened her eyes to find Steve's bright blue ones peering down at her.

"I don't know. They all seem quite…"

"Immature?"

"Yes exactly. Except for Romanov and Barton. Did you notice they're together? Talk about a deadly duo. That's almost as bad as Natasha and Bucky. The others seem…receptive to our offers of friendship. Romanov and Barton are…more suspicious," Tony said.

"Then they're the only intelligent ones on that whole team," Steve said, quirking an eyebrow up. Perhaps he didn't hold the same opinion—perhaps he thought the others were more suspicious than they let on. Tony didn't know, and Tony didn't care, because her husband looked so very _adorable_ with that expression. She moved up slightly and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"No, they're the only professionals," Tony disagreed. "The others are…amateurs. So far."

"Unless they're playing us very well," Steve said darkly. Tony smirked.

"Maybe. But other you does seem _quite_ innocent," she said.

"Oh?"

"I'm not sure he's capable of faking that full body blush he got when he saw me in my nightgown," she said, thoroughly amused. "Even if he's not an amateur superhero, he's an amateur at _some_ things."

"Oh? And was I?" Steve asked, mock-offended.

"Not by the time _I_ got to you. Bernie despoiled you first," Tony pointed out. "You got to make all your mistakes with her." Steve grinned—it was a feral sort of grin, and quickly, entirely unexpectedly, he flipped them over so that Tony was on her back and Steve looming over her. She squealed and laughed at the move. He kissed her—thoroughly—and when he was done said,

"Oh, I assure you Ms. Stark—there were _never_ any mistakes."

Tony decided, for once, not to call him on his bullshit.


	22. Not Old Yet

Steve had not felt quite so content in a very long time. He supposed, as the Other Avengers slowly filtered back into the house in pairs or trios, that it was no mystery as to _why_. Tony was not, nor had she ever been, shy about anything. He hadn't figured out what she was up to, though, until everyone had left the house. _Then_ his wife's intentions slowly dawned, and he couldn't be happier. His wife was, after all, a genius. She had, Steve guessed, kicked everyone out and told them without mincing words exactly why she wanted them gone. Still, Steve was so content with his day that he didn't find himself in the least embarrassed by it. While he preferred a bit of discretion there wasn't, after all, anything to be ashamed of. So even when Other Tony walked in to the kitchen, where Steve was making coffee and reading through classified documents on his tablet, simply to rib him, he could manage only a raised eyebrow, but no blush.

"Afterglow's a good look on you, Commander Capsicle," Other Tony said. Most of the Other Avengers had joined Steve in the kitchen, which seemed to be a hub of activities these days; the only ones absent were Thor and Jane, who were, he was told, out on a dinner date. He supposed the increased activity in the kitchen was because everyone needed to eat, but also because there was an increase of coffee addicts in his house. He'd needed to buy four times as much coffee as usual, and Steve usually bought a _lot_. It reminded Steve of the days before Thor and Jane moved out, before the slow trickle of Avengers left the mansion, and the mansion stopped being 'Avengers Mansion' and started just being his and Tony's home. "Wish our Capsicle here'd wear it more often. Might dislodge that stick in his ass."

Steve caught his double giving Tony a mutinous glare. Their interaction always intrigued Steve. It reminded him very little of his own first encounters with Tony. Sure, they had argued and gotten on one another's nerves, but this Tony and Steve attacked one another with an unprecedented vicious nature. They aimed for the jugular every time, with no thought to the damage they would leave in their wake. Other Tony was not ribbing Other Steve—he was insulting him, waiting for him to take the bait and come at him. Other Steve, of course, did nothing but glare. Steve just raised an eyebrow.

"I swear you do a remarkable impression of Tony circa 1994," Steve stated. He sipped his coffee and flipped to the next document on his tablet. Mutants robbed a convenience store in Queens—well that was no surprise. It had been handled. Energy spikes coming from various areas in D.C., no known culprit…He'd have to put Bruce on that one, see what was going—

"—calling me immature?" Steve caught the tail end of whatever Other Tony had been saying. He could guess the contents.

"Very astute observation Mr. Stark," Steve replied dryly.

"Aaaaand point to Rogers," Other Clint piped up. For his part, he was busy assembling and disassembling a set of arrows Tony had given him as soon as he'd returned. She'd prepared a little something for all of them—Other Clint received a bow and arrows, Other Natasha a set of stilettos (the blades, not the shoes), Other Bruce a pair of special 'stretchy' pants like their own Bruce had, Other Pepper a Louis Vuitton bag, and Other Tony a K'nex set and an admonition to stop taking apart household appliances and go to the downtown lab already. Jane and Thor had presents waiting as well, but Steve didn't know what. In this particular case, Steve was unsure of his wife's motivations. He didn't know if she simply wanted to make their extended houseguests feel particularly welcome, or if it was a reward for leaving the house (and thus, a bribe towards further out of house adventures for the alts and perhaps more frequent in house adventures for them). He really wouldn't mind if it was the second. Tony, _his_ Tony, his beautiful, ridiculous, eccentric, genius, loving wife waltzed into the kitchen just then and began rummaging about the cupboards. She'd dressed in her favorite Black Sabbath shirt—the one she'd had for longer than she'd known Steve—and simple yoga pants. Tony, he knew, adored yoga pants for working in the workshop because they were "basically pajamas but also semi-acceptable outdoors clothes". Tony leaned down to pull a pot out of the cabinet, and Steve had to admit—he liked yoga pants, too. As he averted his eyes for decorum's sake, he noticed that someone else liked yoga pants, too. Well, perhaps he wasn't someone else, exactly, but enough so.

It was strange. He knew he'd have to keep an eye on his younger double when the alts had fallen into their laps, but he'd thought the eye he'd be keeping would be one of sympathy. Tony had informed him how he had just left the ice two years earlier (though really, Steve would have figured that out for himself very quickly), and all of Steve's feelings from back then came flooding back. He figured his younger self might be able to use a guiding hand, might need an ear from time to time. He had completely ignored the possibility that he would have to _watch _himself. But, as Steve Rogers are wont to do, his double appeared to be fast developing feelings for his wife. Steve wasn't sure how to curb and discourage this behavior. After all, no amount of his own conscious telling him how bad an idea it was to fall in love with Tony had ever really stopped him, so what hope did Steve now have as an external, rather than internal, force have? None, he figured. Steve took another sip of his coffee before turning back to Tony. It probably couldn't be helped. But it didn't matter. It wasn't like his younger double would act on it. It just meant that, as soon as he was back in his own universe, he'd have even more problems to deal with.

"Tony," Steve said, "what on earth are you doing?" Tony had gathered about her cutting boards, measuring cups, knives, pots, and pans. Such was a dangerous thing for Tony Stark to have—mostly because it was dangerous to the poor souls upon whom she inflicted her cuisine.

"Spaghetti! I'm making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner," Tony replied. Ah, well, that was all right then. It was the only dish Tony could in fact make, and Tony didn't just _make_ it, she made it into a masterpiece. If she could only cook one thing, it wasn't a bad thing to cook.

"Would you like some help?" Steve offered.

"I've got it," Tony said cheerfully. Steve smiled into his cup. He wasn't the only one who had needed the day off. Tony was more relaxed and happy than he'd seen her in two months.

"Did I hear someone say spaghetti and meatballs?" Kate asked. She walked into the kitchen, Francis Barton at her side. Peter lagged behind them. He looked _beat_. And, indeed, _beat up_. Steve set down his coffee. There was no mistaking the injuries on his face for anything but a nasty right cross.

"Spaghetti?" Peter half-groaned. "You serious?"

"Since when don't you like spaghetti and meatballs?" Tony demanded as Peter hoisted himself up on the counter near where his mother was working. She looked at him more closely. "What happened to your face, Peter? Are you ok?"

"I'm all right. Just fell. Skateboarding," Peter said.

"You have got to stop doing stupid stunts on that thing, Peter, you're going to break your neck," Tony admonished.

"Stupid stunts—isn't that _your_ specialty, Tony?" Steve inquired innocently. Peter shot him a grateful half-smile. Tony rolled her eyes.

"Exactly," she said. "He can't take over my specialty. I'll be put out of business."

"Hello Francis," Steve said to the boy who was helping himself to an apple from the fruit bowl on the table.

"Hey Uncle Steve," he replied with an impish grin. If there was any word to describe Francis Barton, _impish_ was indeed the best Steve could think of. Only two years younger than James, Steve had known Francis for all his life. He had watched Clint teach him how to shoot a toy bow, and then not long after, the real thing. He had watched him play with Peter and Kate as children, patiently sitting through Kate's tea parties and not so patiently trying to teach Peter to hold a bow. Then he watched as Francis moved on to teaching _Kate_ to hold a bow. Kate, it had turned out, was a much more adept student and thrilled to do something Francis could do. They'd had practice together as soon as Kate turned six and could hold a real bow, and even when the Barton family left the mansion, Kate had continued lessons with Francis and Clint. The two kids were attached at the hip—until Francis hit about fifteen and stopped coming around for the most part. Still, it sometimes felt that Francis had simply always been around, always been underfoot, perhaps due in large part to the fact that he was the only Avenger child other than Kate and Peter (and indeed more so than James) to have grown up in the mansion. Clint had moved in when Francis was just a year old, and Clint and Bobbie hadn't moved out until 2006, the year when Tony and Steve tied the knot, and Bobbie got pregnant again. They were the last to leave. Francis had lived in the house until he was ten years old, and sometimes Steve forgot he _didn't_ reside there anymore. Perhaps that was why he forgot to ask the obvious question that Tony voiced:

"Francis? What are you doing here?"

"Heard James was around, thought I'd come torture him," Francis said cheerily. He played with the apple as opposed to eating it, tossing it from one hand to the other.

"Well, he's not around at the moment but he'll probably be back for dinner," Tony responded.

"Cool, I'll stick around," he said. Then he looked at the table with the Alts. He grinned. "Woah, hey, look, it's _AltDad_, that's weird." It took Other Clint a moment, but eventually his son-in-another-universe's pointed stare sunk in.

"Me?" he asked. "You're _my_…?"

"Kid, yeah, oldest one. Francis Barton. Nice to meet you! Wow, isn't it crazy to see you? You have _hair_! You're not even balding! And there's no pudge around the middle. Impressive. You're like, not _old_ yet," Francis said. Other Clint was looking steadily more horrified and it took all of Steve's willpower not to laugh because, of course, Clint couldn't know that Francis was pulling his leg. Other Clint attempted to formulate a response while Steve rose from his chair. He had other things to worry about than Francis causing a bit of mischief with the Alts.

"Hey Peter," he said, "why don't we get some work done on the bike before dinner." Peter nodded.

"Yeah, ok," he said, sliding off the countertop and walking to him. They headed down to the garage together.


	23. Ache

Peter had never in his life been short on time with his father. It was a luxury, he knew, and as he got older he appreciated it more. He appreciated how, even though they were often gone saving the world, his parents worked to make time for himself and his sister—and even James too, when he was around. They had never had a nanny, nor had they been sent off to boarding school. They had, when they were too small for school, SHIELD agent babysitters whenever their parents weren't working from home or were off on a mission. It had been often, sure, but Peter had far more memories of building Lego masterpieces with his mom and drawing with his dad than he had of being put to bed by rotating SHIELD agents. Even as he'd gotten older, the activities might have changed but his parents' presence hadn't. Now he worked on building robots with Mom and fixing up a vintage bike with Dad, but the essence was the same.

"Can't wait to hear her purr," Peter commented, touching the handlebars lightly. In truth, he could, and he had. The bike could have been finished _months_ ago if he'd really wanted to work on it, but he preferred working on it with Dad, even if all the time they had was in periods like now—a random half an hour stolen somewhere in the day.

"Well, shouldn't be long now," his dad said. "Hand me one of those nuts over there—yeah, that's the one." His dad screwed a few things into place, then glanced up at Peter. "So, how's the other guy look?" Peter was startled, but he managed an innocent, questioning expression. His dad just gave him a look. "Come on, Peter, I know a right cross when I see one. Yes or no, do I have to call somebody's father?" A rush of horror flooded through Peter. He shook his head.

"No. No," he said, doing his best to play it off as nothing. His dad still regarded him a bit suspiciously, but thankfully let it go.

"Well I wouldn't tell your mother. I'd pity the poor kid who'd have to suffer her wrath," Steve advised. Peter managed a brief smile before his father tossed him a wrench. He didn't catch it—such were his reflexes. It bounced harmlessly off his chest and onto the ground. It wouldn't have hurt, in normal circumstances; it had been thrown very lightly. Yet it hit his ribs and suddenly his chest was on fire, and he was doing his best not to scream at the top of his lungs. He wasn't sure how well he kept his composure. Something must have shown on his face, because his father looked at him with scrutiny and concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the garage opened.

"Hey Uncle Steve! Peter! Dinner's ready," Francis said, popping his head inside.

"Thank you Francis, we'll be there in a minute," his dad answered. Francis popped back out. Peter was grateful for the time to regain his composure. His chest still ached—had ached all day, had distracted him all through school—but it was bearable now. Dad still looked at him carefully. Peter projected the best image he possibly could of nonchalance.

"Should probably go wash up," Peter said, gesturing behind him with his thumb. "I'll go do that."

"All right," Dad said, but Peter felt his father's eyes on his back as he went. He felt his charade, the charade he'd carefully crafted in elementary school and been perfecting for years since, slowly cracking. He wondered what would be waiting for him when it finally broke.

Then again, he really didn't want to find out.


	24. Does Your Mother Know

Dinner was all together uneventful. James did in fact show up, and his and Francis' mutual (friendly) insults were rather entertaining, especially considering the fact that they had to avoid saying swear words or anything particularly filthy if they didn't want Steve's older counterpart—who Steve had taken to thinking of simply as the Commander—to box their ears. Francis resorted to calling James a 'tragic son of a rocky road ice cream cone' to which James responded that Francis was 'nothing but a low down banana split sundae without nuts on top'. One thing was for certain—this argument in no way resembled any of the ones James had shared with Peter. There was no real venom in their ridiculous insults, and they both seemed to take great joy in it.

It didn't appear that anyone had invited Francis to dinner, but no one seemed to mind. In fact, it seemed to be expected. Steve was reminded of Bucky's parents, who had always insisted that he stay for dinner until the day that he finally just stayed without asking permission first. They had been like family. It was clear that for Francis, this was a second home. Despite Steve's initial impression of Francis, it was also clear that his relationship with Peter was not a generally hostile one. He teased him a bit, but it was no worse than anything Steve had seen Kate inflict, and certainly not a quarter as harsh as James' "teasing". Peter didn't seem to mind much and mostly referred to Francis as birdbrain throughout dinner.

When dinner finished up, Tony turned on some music and started to do the dishes with her husband—the maid, they explained, was visiting a sick relative. Still they didn't seem any worse for wear as people began to trickle out of the room, handing up plates to the sink on their way out; they were having far too much fun dancing to the music as they worked.

"ABBA!" Tony shouted as a song Steve didn't recognize came on. She laughed, a beautiful, musical laugh, and turned to the Commander. "MIT, January 11 1991—Oh, God." The Commander just laughed.

"The _lampshade_—" he said.

"And RHODEY, oh, God," Tony giggled.

"I didn't know people would willingly get that wasted so soon after New Years. And that other girl—what was her name?"

"Hell if I remember—"

"She seemed relatively normal until ABBA came on," the Commander said.

"Oh no, I knew she was crazy from the start, that's why I picked her," Tony assured him. "Crazy in life, crazy in the sack—but the ABBA antics were a bit much. Kristi! Her name was Kristi. Kristi with a 'k'." The two of them just laughed for a moment. Their children had long since left. The only ones left in the kitchen were them, Steve, and—well, Steve looked around. No one else was left. It was just him. He started to slink out, embarrassed. He hadn't meant to be intruding.

"You're the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeeeeeeen!" they half-sung, half-spoke in a chorus as the music played. Steve was highly amused. It was a ridiculous sight, his older self rhythmically drying dishes as Tony scrubbed, intermittently using the long scrub brush as a microphone. They were entirely free from prying eyes, whether that was true or not. They were wholly unselfconscious. Steve snuck out all the way, a bit loathe to do so. He didn't even know where he was going. Everyone else had disappeared. He could watch a movie, he supposed, or play a video game if no one was using the TV. He could read a book; he had yet to visit the library Pepper had told him about. He was just wandering around indecisively near the kitchen when he heard hushed voices. The music nearly drowned them out, though; almost all he could hear was:

_You're so hot, teasing me,_

_ So you're blue but I can't take a chance on a chick like you_

_That's something I couldn't do_

_There's that look in your eyes_

_I can read in your face that your feelings are driving you wild_

_Ah, but girl you're only a child_

Yet just barely he could hear the voices. He wasn't meaning to eavesdrop, but he also didn't want to interrupt by making his presence known. They were just around the corner. Steve peeked over to see who it was. Kate had her arms around Francis' neck, but he was gently extricating himself from her grasp.

"Take it easy, Kate," Francis whispered. Kate pouted.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" she demanded.

"I _want _to, but Kate—" Steve couldn't make out the next words. All he could hear was the loud chorus of

_Does your mother know that you're out?_

"I don't _care_ that you're older," Kate insisted, moving her arms once again to pull him closer. Francis looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Kate—don't—please," he said as she moved in even closer. She nearly had him pinned against a wall. Steve almost felt pity for the kid.

"I _know_ you like me," she said. Her voice was almost too low to hear now. "And I know you _want _me. You think I don't see you looking at me in my shorts at practice?" she asked. She _did_ have him pinned against the wall at this point, and the boy was looking panicked.

"Kate, I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable, I swear it won't happen again—"

"I wasn't uncomfortable. I think it's _hot_," she said. Oh, and now Steve was _really_ eavesdropping. This was no longer stumbling-upon-the scene innocence, and he was beginning to feel a bit perverted. He walked away a bit until all he could hear was

_I can see what you want_

_But you seem pretty young to be searching for that kind of fun_

He was at a safe distance. He _did_ still need to cross that hallway, but he figured he'd wait a minute until he was sure they were gone. That was until, of course, their voices got loud enough to overpower the music from his new spot.

"—_no_, Kate. You're _sixteen_. I'm _twenty_. We can talk in two years if we still—but not _until then_," Steve heard Francis' voice clearly. It was firm, but had a desperate note to it. Steve was impressed with the kid. But Kate's voice answered back, furious,

"If you're going to reject me Barton, I'd prefer you do it outright!" Steve heard angry footsteps, so he started heading towards the hall, figuring she was leaving in the other direction, the direction of her room. Francis was calling after her.

"Kate, that's not—"

Steve's guess was unfortunately wrong, and he ran smack into the irate teen as they both rounded the corner.

"UGH!" she exclaimed as she stumbled backwards a bit. "You people are _everywhere! _Like _rats_ or something, Jesus _Christ! _Is there no _fucking privacy_ anymore?" She pushed forward past him, giving him a hefty shove as she went. She was heading for the garden as far as Steve could tell.

"Kate!" Francis called one last time, then just sighed, looking defeated. He looked helplessly at Steve. "You heard that I guess?"

"A bit," Steve admitted. "I—I was heading to the living room, and didn't want to interrupt—"

"No it's—we were in the hallway, it's our fault," Francis said, dismissing his explanation.

"For what it's worth, you're a good kid. Doing the right thing is ha—difficult…sometimes," Steve offered.

"Yeah, I know," Francis said. "I just wish she wasn't pissed at me over it. Whatever. Laters Cap." Francis flipped him a peace sign and took off, but not after Kate. Steve figured letting her cool off was also a wise decision. Steve headed down the hall, still followed by echoes of ABBA, his mind wandering to a musical laugh and a scrub brush microphone.

_I have a dream, a fantasy_

_To help me through reality_

_And my destination makes it worth the while_

_Pushing through the darkness still another mile_

_I believe in angels…_


	25. Just a Flesh Wound

Peter was still wincing through dinner. That was not the face of someone whose parents had handled his medical care, that was the face of a kid still hiding an injury. And it made Tony angry. It made Tony _furious_. There they all were, enjoying dinner, and right at the table a sixteen year old kid was in pain probably because he'd _broken a rib_ and nobody noticed. Nobody. _His parents will take care of it when he gets home_. Bullshit.

Peter wasn't Tony's son. Peter kind of wigged Tony out, honestly. It was weird seeing that kid's Bambi eyes and knowing that the color was his and the set of them was Steve's. It was weird watching him sketch in perfect form, the same way he'd noticed Steve did whenever they had down time at the Triskelion, while at the same time he scratched equations in the margins. Kate Tony could get over. Kate was a younger copy of her mother with blue eyes, a dryer wit, and no apparent scientific aptitude—or at least enthusiasm. Her mix of her parents wasn't so obvious. But with Peter it was an incontrovertible, visible fact. So Peter freaked Tony out a little bit, but at the same time he sympathized with the damn kid. He might not be his son, but he sure could understand living in this big house with absent parents.

All right, 3490 Tony and Steve weren't even _half _as bad as what his parents had been. Or his father, anyway. Really they weren't even on the same scale. It was obvious, at least, that they loved their children. But that didn't change the fact that clearly neither of them had any clue what was going on with Peter at school—hell, what had maybe _always_ been going on. Who knew how long the kid had been bullied for? Was this not an isolated event, him coming home with a black eye and cracked ribs and no one even noticing? Tony could guess how isolating that must feel.

So when everyone dispersed after dinner, Tony followed Peter. _Not your kid, not your problem, not your kid, not your problem, Tony_. One part of his mind tried to pull him in the other direction, but a stronger nagging pulled him forward still. _Who'll bother if you won't?_ So Tony followed the kid all the way back to his room. Peter didn't even notice, which was probably a testament to how distracting the pain must be as Tony wasn't exactly sneaking. Tony leaned up against the doorframe of his not-son's room. The kid hadn't bothered to shut the door and was in the process of taking his shirt off, facing the other direction. He hissed as he did so, and Tony could see why. Even from the back he could see the edge of a large, dark bruise.

"The swelling's going to be a bitch on that if you don't ice it," Tony pointed out. Peter turned around and nearly stumbled backward in his surprise, almost tripping on a stack of books on the ground. His room was littered with books. Books, comics, and little gadgets probably of his own design. It was extraordinarily messy, the kind of messy Tony's own mother would have boxed his ears for.

"What are you doing outside my room?" Peter demanded. Tony shifted uncomfortably. It was true, he was probably crossing a boundary line here. _Not your kid_, he reminded himself. This was really none of his business. But he couldn't help but interfere.

"I figured you didn't tell your parents what happened. Figured then that you must not have gotten any medical attention. I can grab you some ice and painkillers," Tony volunteered. Peter narrowed his eyes.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because you clearly don't want to get caught going for it but you clearly need some anyway," Tony said. "You look like you're turning into a Na'vi." Peter winced at that.

"Ok. Yeah. Point taken. Uh, thanks," he said.

"No problem," Tony said. He walked off, shutting the door behind him. He wasn't going to force the kid to tell his parents what was going on, after all. It wasn't his business. But he could at least get him some basic first aid. Tony wandered back into the kitchen, ignoring the antics of his double and the extra Steve who were currently rocking out to ABBA while washing the dishes. At any other time he probably would have just regarded it as sickeningly, disgustingly adorable and probably would have suffered heaps of second hand embarrassment. But at the moment he felt only fury. Here they were, having a great time in the kitchen, while their _kid_ had cracked ribs and was getting beaten up at school and they were none the wiser and Tony wondered if they'd even _asked_.

But no, maybe that wasn't entirely fair. His double _had_ asked when Peter came in from school. Peter had lied, and his double had believed him. Peter didn't, after all, seem like the type of kid to lie. Could he really hold a grudge against her for gullibility? For trusting? Tony didn't know. He felt conflicted. There was a kid with a black and blue rib cage alone in his room and Tony felt like he had to blame _somebody_ for that.

He found an icepack in the freezer pretty quickly and then headed to one of the many communal bathrooms, raiding the medicine cabinet for some tylenol. They didn't have anything stronger, predictably, so Tony supposed Peter would just have to make do. He headed back to the kid's room. He knocked before heading back in again. Peter was sitting at his desk, playing a video game on his laptop. He paused it when Tony entered.

"Here," Tony said, handing him the icepack. "It'll be easier to keep on you if you just lie down. And I brought you the bottle of tylenol. Don't take too much—you _can_ actually overdose on acetaminophen."

"Thanks Mom," Peter snorted, sarcasm evident. Tony froze. Peter took the bottle from him. "You ok?"

"Please, for the love of God, do not call me that even as a joke," Tony said, wrinkling his nose.

"I feel like I should be offended," Peter said dryly, but he clearly wasn't. He opened the bottle and swallowed two pills without any water. Tony looked at that bruise again.

"You know kid it really wouldn't hurt to get that checked out at a hospital. Unless I've been informed incorrectly, you _don't_ have superhuman healing capabilities," Tony pointed out. Peter's mouth twisted downward.

"Yeah, no, I don't have any," he said. "But it's just a bruise."

"…A _big_ bruise."

Peter shrugged, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Fine, Mr. Tough Guy, but if you die in the middle of the night from internal organ damage it is _not _on me," Tony said. Of course it was. Of course it would be. Which was why he planned on informing JARVIS (as if he didn't know already) of Peter's injury and to monitor him through the night. But he wouldn't tell the kid that.

"I release you from your responsibility," Peter said, waving him off. Tony turned to go and opened the door. "Hey, uh, Tony?" Tony turned back around. The kid offered him a tiny grin and shook the bottle. "Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever, just don't slip into a coma and die on me," Tony said. He left the room and shut the door behind him.

Later, in the privacy of his own room, he alerted J to the situation. He already knew, of course, but it eased Tony's mind. At least one member of this household was looking out for the scrawny little kid.


	26. Get Him Going

If there was one moment when you were guaranteed to catch 3490 Tony sitting still, it was while she drank her morning coffee. Tony always found that funny since he never bothered to sit still for coffee. 3490 Tony seemed to find it—at least the first coffee of the day—a sacred ritual. Usually, though, her husband was up and drinking coffee with her, which is why Tony was surprised to find her in the kitchen alone at five in the morning, fully dressed for work. Tony ignored her initially, pouring himself a cup of coffee for himself first. It wasn't until after his first sip that he spoke.

"I'm surprised to see you alone," Tony commented. "Where's triple B?"

"Triple B?" 3490 Tony asked with a raised eyebrow as Tony took a seat across from her.

"Big Blonde and Buff," Tony clarified. 3490 Tony snorted. "Triple B. The man that sticks to you more insistently than a shadow."

"I left him passed out in bed. He's still exhausted, poor man," 3490 Tony said, a very suggestive grin on her face. She sipped her coffee. "And not actually a morning person."

"Well now that I don't believe," Tony said.

"He's very good at hiding his humanity, but it's true: Steve Rogers is not a morning person. He wakes up with half his hair sticking up and all bleary eyed, and if you try talking to him before he's _really_ woken up it's kind of hilarious—the stuff he'll babble, I tell you," she said chuckling. "But I'm sure he'll get up soon and rub his eyes and go for a run and look for all the world like getting out of bed looking and acting perfect is the most natural thing in the world for him."

"Hm," Tony said. "And what about you? Are you a morning person? What are you doing up right now, anyway?"

"Tony Stark is a 'whatever time of day' person she needs to be," 3490 Tony said. "And today, I need to be the kind of person who gets up early and goes into work promptly. The Director of SHIELD really can't take many days off." 3490 Tony sipped at her coffee. A clear tablet lay flat on the table, and occasionally she scrolled through it with her finger, but Tony wondered if that was just habit—he'd seen her make computers scroll with nothing but a thought before.

"Yeah, about that—'Tony Stark'—don't tell me your parents named you Anthony anyway?" Tony asked wryly. 3490 Tony smirked.

"No, but given how much my old man wanted a son that wouldn't surprise me. 'Tony' is short for—"

"Antonia?"

"Ugh, no, that's even worse. Antonella," 3490 Tony, Antonella, said. She looked at him pointedly over her coffee cup. "But there is exactly one person who is allowed to call me that and keep his testicles, and you are not him."

"Noted," Tony said, gulping his own coffee. There was silence for a few moments. Tony just watched his double. It was strange, looking at her. She looked like his mother. She had her curly hair, her delicate, feminine features. Tony, despite the evidence staring him in the face, could not imagine himself as her. She was more like a twin sister than another version of himself. She was just…she was too different. Not just female, but also more responsible. More reliable. A _parent_, and decently successfully so. _Married_. And to _Steve Rogers_ of all people, the most judgmental person on the planet with the world's most impossible moral standards. Tony had no idea how she managed that, or why she _wanted_ that, and no idea how they got along they way they did. It didn't compute in his head.

"I still can't believe you married Rogers," Tony confessed aloud. Antonella grinned.

"Yeah I noticed you and yours don't get along all that well," she said. "Is it because he's so…old fashioned?"

"No, it's because he always thinks he's right," Tony said. _And obnoxiously often is_. "And because he has moral standards so high I have no idea how he doesn't fall off them and break his neck. He's judgmental and annoying and stubborn as _hell_, I have no idea how you stand him." Antonella sipped her coffee.

"I don't know your Steve all that well. But he seems to be very like _my_ Steve, when we first met. Only I had the advantage of meeting him when we were both young. We had a lot to learn from each other, and I'm glad we did. I'm not half as good at anything as I am when I'm doing it with him," she said. "I can't speak to your Steve necessarily but, I know that I thought the guy was judging everything I was doing until I found out that a lot of that was in my head. He's really much more open and understanding than you'd guess for a guy raised in the 20s and 30s. And he's sharp as a tack too, learns very quickly—eidetic memory. He's—you're right about the moral thing, he does have high standards. But they're the _right_ standards. I promise, he's not judging you because you sleep around. If he judges you at all it's probably on how you act in the field, or how he perceives you spend your money—he was eleven when the Great Depression hits, he's not a fan of big business or spending wastefully. Sometimes it's still something we argue about." Antonella shrugged.

"Really I can't get past the whole 'grew up in the 20s and 30s thing'," Tony mused. "Very strange."

"Stranger for him," Antonella pointed out. "You should really cut the guy some slack. Literally everyone he knows is dead. Or like, a year or two from death. His whole way of life—gone. Not even hamburgers taste the same."

"How do you know I'm _not_ cutting him slack?" Tony demanded, offended.

"Because I've seen you look at him," Antonella said simply. "He's not as judgmental as you think. He is certainly as bossy as you think, but he's usually got a good reason to be. He's not stupid, either, just _ignorant_, which is to be expected given his background. And he's not as innocent and apple pie as he looks either." Antonella threw in a smirk with that last comment. Tony just raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe yours isn't, but have you _seen_ the way our Steve blushes when you bring up anything even vaguely referencing sex?" Tony asked her. Antonella laughed.

"Well, your Steve might indeed be a little white bread and vanilla," Antonella conceded. Tony wondered if he shouldn't think of her like that. If he thought the name, he might _use_ the name, and then she would have his balls for it. He thought of her that way anyway. Antonella sipped her coffee. "He does seem to be the biggest virgin to ever virgin. My Steve had…I won't say extensive, but he certainly had enough experience with men, anyway, that even if he blushed a bit around women he wasn't totally ignorant about sex. I can't tell with your Steve."

"Not _my_ Steve," Tony said pointedly. Antonella rolled her eyes.

"I am far too lazy to say 'your universe's Steve', that's four extra syllables, no thank you," she said. "Anyway. Yours might be all apple pie, but mine wasn't _too_ terribly different, even with his experience. And not to say that yours isn't actually innocent and everything but, man, let me tell you, with Steve? He might've started vanilla but once you get him going…" She trailed off, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. But the grin vanished quickly and Antonella gave Tony an appraising look. She sipped her coffee. Tony eyed her suspiciously.

"What?" he asked.

"Is that something that would interest you?" Antonella asked. She grinned again. "_Getting him going?" _Tony Stark did not blush. He would never admit such a fact to anyone or even to himself. So Tony Stark was decidedly not turning red at that comment.

"No! No, absolutely not," he said. Antonella just laughed.

"Oh, honey," she said.

"I mean—all right—fine—I'm not _blind_," Tony relented. "He's been sculpted by angels or something, he's unreal. But he's—he's _Rogers_."

"Yes, that is his name," Antonella agreed, amused. "I just think that you don't _know_ 'Rogers' very well." She gulped down the remainder of her coffee and put the mug on the table with a dull thunk. Tony felt like disagreeing with her. He'd known the guy for nearly two years. He had a stick permanently lodged up his ass, and he'd never seen anything to indicate otherwise. Antonella stood. "Well, this has been a lovely chat but I have a international security organization to run, so." She picked her tablet up.

"Why _did_ you marry him?" Tony asked abruptly. Antonella just laughed.

"Oh, because he has the best abs I've ever seen. Why do you _think_? I married him because I love him. Is that really so hard to believe?" Antonella asked. Her last words were soft, laced with concern, and Tony felt his gut twist. He knew pity when he heard it. Antonella left the room before Tony could think of anything else to say.


	27. Oscorp

By Friday that week the pain in Peter's ribs had dulled, though he still felt stiff in the mornings and grimaced every time he caught sight of the black and blue bruise on his side. If only he'd even just inherited a _healing_ factor from his dad—but no, Peter had lost the genetic lottery in that regard. The only 'superpower' he'd gotten from his dad was his eidetic memory, and Peter wasn't 100% sure that hadn't come from his mother—she never _said_ she'd had eidetic memory pre-Extremis, but Peter really wouldn't be surprised.

At any rate, Peter was feeling _okay_ that Friday when it was time to head out to Oscorp. Peter was, perhaps a little despite himself, very excited about the trip. He'd brought his camera, taking pictures for the school paper. The facilities were all state-of-the-art, and no matter what Mom had to say about them, Peter found most of the experiments their tour guide describing to be _fascinating_.

"There are more than 32,000 known species of spider in the world. They are in the order Aranae, which is divided into three sub-orders—Mesothelea, Orthognatha, and Labidognatha. All spiders are carnivorous, ravenous eaters who feed on massive quantities of protein, in liquid form, usually the juices of their prey. Arachnids from each of the three groups possess varying strengths which help them in their constant search for food," the tour guide explained as she led them around the insect room. Peter took a few shots of some of the spiders—they were all wicked looking creatures, many with bright colors, not at all the kind of spider you saw in the cobwebs back home in the attic. Peter noticed a black widow and took a shot.

" Over five painstaking years Columbia's genetic research facility has fully mapped the genetic codes of each of these spiders. Armed with these DNA blueprints, we have now begun what was once thought—impossible—inter-species genetic transmutation," the tour guide continued, leading them through the insect room and into another laboratory. Only a few, tiny boxes of spiders were on display, obviously being used in research.

"In this recombination lab, we use synthesized transfer-RNA to encode an entirely new genome, combining genetic information from all three spiders into these fifteen genetically designed super-spiders, the first mankind has ever produced," the tour guide said. She was clearly proud of their work, and Peter had to admit, he was impressed. Inter-species genetics was a ridiculously complicated field.

"Fourteen," MJ Watson spoke up. She was a very outspoken redhead and also worked on the school paper—she was currently editor-in-chief.

"I'm sorry?" the tour guide asked.

"There's only fourteen spiders. One's missing," MJ said.

"Oh," the tour guide said, counting the spiders herself and coming to the same conclusion. "They must have removed that one for research. All right, and over here we have _lizards_, suborder lacertilia—this is a more complicated genetics project, using what we learned from the spiders to attempt to combine spider and mouse DNA and regrow limbs…" As the group passed, Peter brought up his camera.

"Gwen! Gwen, would you mind—just stand in front of the spiders for a second? I need one with a student in it," Peter explained. It was sort of true. It was _sort of_ an excuse to take a picture of Gwen, the prettiest, kindest, smartest girl in school. Gwen smiled.

"Sure," she said, stepping just to the side of the clear boxes of spiders. Peter brought the camera up to his eyes and looked through the view finder. He snapped a few shots.

"Great," he said. "Just one more." He took the shot, then lowered the camera. "Thanks Gw-ow!" He shook his hand quickly, only to see a red and blue spider fall off and scurry away quickly.

"You ok, Peter?" Gwen asked.

"Uh, yeah, fine," Peter said. Man. First bruised ribs now a spider bite. It was a great week, really. "Thanks." She smiled again.

"No problem—oh, we should catch up to the group shouldn't we? I think they're leaving—" Gwen said, and then quickly followed after. Peter followed her lead, and sucked on the injured part of his hand. It hurt like _crazy_. Hopefully that spider wasn't venomous.

Oh well. Guess he was going to find out either way.


	28. Just a Minute

Peter felt sick. Maybe it was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he'd eaten at Oscorp for lunch—he hadn't checked the date on the jelly in the fridge when he'd packed it. Maybe it was that spider bite—and that made his heart race. Maybe he should have told the teacher. Maybe he should have gone to the hospital. It could have been venomous. He felt hot and sweaty and _not well_. He'd planned to go skateboarding after school as he often did, but now he just wasn't able. He sat on the subway, looking at the empty seat next to him. He'd just lay down for a minute. _Just a minute_. Just until the nausea passed, then he'd be able to get up and seek medical attention. He laid his head down and closed his eyes. _Just a minute_.


	29. Meatloaf

Tony had never seen his double in such a state. She paced. She paced the floor in the living room. 3490 Steve sat on the back of the sofa, trying to soothe her with words, but Antonella would not be soothed. To be fair, they were _all_ a bit worried. It had started around five o'clock. Antonella had noticed Peter wasn't back yet and said as much.

"Skateboarding," Kate answered. "He took it with him this morning."

Nothing more was said of it until dinner. It seemed odd that Peter should miss dinner. In all the time that they had been there, Tony and the other 'Alts' as they called them had never seen a dinner without one of the Rogers children (save James, who Tony didn't count). It was a weird sensation, eating without Peter, though neither Antonella nor 3490 Steve seemed particularly disturbed—dinner, it would seem, was not as mandatory as Tony had thought.

It wasn't until _after_ dinner that either parent began to truly get concerned.

"He didn't answer my text," Antonella said to the Commander as they rose from the table, though Tony didn't see a cell phone anywhere in sight. "I'm just going to see if I can get a ping on him, ok?"

"If it'll put your mind at ease I don't think he'll mind," 3490 Steve acquiesced. Tony expected his double to go find a tablet, but she just stood there. Her eyes moved back and forth, gradually widening.

"Steve I'm not getting a signal. Oh my God, Steve, there's no signal. There's _no signal_ from his phone—I—I'll find the last tower—" Antonella paused for a moment, her eyes moving even faster. It was freaky, really, and Tony stood frozen, watching in fascination. He wasn't the only one—the other alts were watching closely as well, though many politely pretended to be up to something else. Antonella gasped sharply. "The last ping was—it was in Manhattan, but Steve, that was _hours_ ago, oh my God—" 3490 Steve, looking alarmed, put a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"It could just be off, Tony," he said. Antonella shook her head vehemently.

"No, he _never_ turns his phone off. I've told him time and again not to turn it off in case something happens! It's not even off when he's at school!" she said.

"We can call out a couple of Agents, see if they can't give us a hand canvassing the area—you stay here, Tony, to let us know when Peter comes back, all right?" Steve said. James, for once, actually had a look of concern on his face.

"Can I come with you? I can give you a hand looking for him," he offered.

"Yes, please—"

"Me too," Kate volunteered. 3490 Steve considered for a moment.

"Fine, but you stay close to your brother, all right? Ok, let's get going—"

"We'll come," Natasha volunteered herself and Clint.

"Me as well," Steve chimed in.

"I shall also join you on this venture," Thor agreed. But this time, Steve shook his head.

"Thor, Captain, you both stay here. If we make this a big operation with recognizable faces, it'll get conspicuous. Romanov, Barton, you're with me. Let's head out—Tony, send me the address," 3490 Steve said.

"Already done," Antonella replied. Still in plainclothes, 3490 Steve led the search party out. That had been around seven. It was nine o'clock when Antonella was boring a hole into the ground with her feet. At 9:15, the search party returned to the mansion—there was no sign of him, nor any indication of where he might have gone. Looking in the middle of New York City was useless. Antonella informed them that she was giving it until midnight before waking up the whole of SHIELD and using every resource at her disposal to find him. 3490 Steve didn't argue. For another tense half an hour, they waited. Antonella paced. 3490 Steve tried to soothe. At 9:45 Antonella gasped.

"A ping!" she exclaimed. "He's—oh, he's coming out of the subway station at Hollis Hills. Call Happ—"

"On it," 3490 Steve said. He already had his cell phone on hand. Happy was driving around the neighborhood, still looking for Peter. He would go and pick him up at Hollis. Antonella collapsed in an armchair in relief.

"Not kidnapped," she said. "Not worse. _Thank God_." 3490 Steve was frowning, though.

"I wonder why we couldn't get a location on him until now," he wondered aloud. Antonella shook her head.

"Well the subway explains part of it—can't get a signal underground. He must have…he must have turned it off. That is so _unlike _him, I really can't believe it. He knows if something happened we wouldn't be able to trace his location," Antonella said. They discussed the matter a bit more as the Alts in the living room decided to relocate to the kitchen; Pepper had suggested they get some ice cream to cheer everyone and no one had disagreed. Even Antonella and 3490 Steve followed, though they didn't partake of the dessert. Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen door opened and Peter walked in. He looked both well rested and tired at the same time. He was sweaty, like he'd gone for a run and hadn't had time to shower.

"Hey, hey, sorry I'm late," Peter said. He sounded out of breath. 3490 Tony stood up, crossing to him.

"We were _so worried_," she said, partly angry, partly relieved.

"I know, I'm sorry, I—_watch out!_" Peter said the last bit so quickly it was barely comprehensible. He reached out and snatched at something in the air, then held it between his thumb and index finger. Even from a distance, Tony could see a tiny little wing flapping.

"That's a fly, Peter," Antonella stated in astonishment. He let the fly go.

"Yeah," he said, though it was barely audible. He followed the creature with his head and eyes for a moment as his parents (and, let's be honest, everyone else in the room) watched him, baffled.

"I'm so sorry I kept you guys up. I'm insensitive. I'm irresponsible. I'm _hungry_—" Peter kissed his mother on the cheek and then headed for the fridge. He opened it up and just dove right in. He pulled out a plate of leftover meatloaf from a few nights before—a truly horrendous meal, Tony had to admit—and started eating it cold.

"_Meatloaf_," he whispered reverently, still standing in front of the open fridge. 3490 Steve turned to Antonella and whispered,

"Drugs?" Antonella slowly shook her head.

"I don't think so…"

"This meatloaf," Peter said, aloud rather than to himself, looking beatific and thrilled to be eating, "beats _all other meatloafs_." Antonella turned to her husband and whispered,

"Something is very wrong."

"Yeah, nobody likes your meatloaf," 3490 Steve responded. Antonella's concerned expression dropped into one of annoyance, but they didn't have time to think too much about it. Peter was stacking all sorts of food in his arms. One thing after another went onto the pile until he was carrying things in his hands, on his arms, and clutching the tower with his chin. He started walking, heading out of the kitchen. As he left, a small tub of ice cream fell into the crook of his elbow. Antonella reached out to help, but Peter refused, walking away.

"I've got it," he assured her. Then he walked out of the kitchen, heading for the stairs to his bedroom, his parents (and the whole room) staring after him.

"He took the frozen macaroni and cheese," Antonella commented in wonder.

"I noticed that," 3490 Steve said. "MGH, you think?"

"Peter? On MGH?" Antonella asked, scandalized. "No, I don't think so. Could it be—a belated second round of puberty? Maybe your genes finally kicking in…?"

"Growth spurt?" 3490 Steve considered. "Maybe. We'll wait and see I guess. At least he's ok. We'll talk to him in the morning when he's evened out a bit." There was silence in the room, then Antonella burst out,

"Why didn't you _tell me_ you didn't like my meatloaf?" she asked. 3490 Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again. The pair was drifting gradually out of the room. "You could have told me that twenty-six years ago! How many meatloafs have I made for you?" They left the kitchen, and just like that, the stress of the evening was over.

"Well that was weird as fuck," James voiced the dominant opinion in the room.

"Not sure 'weird as fuck' even covers it," Kate said.

"Didn't look like MGH to me at all," James mused. "But the hell _else_ could change his reflexes like that?"

"What's MGH?" Tony interrupted.

"Mutant Growth Hormone. Designer drug. It simulates an X gene in the user for a while. So, you're at a party, everybody's drunk, and instead of getting high you decide it would be a hell of a lot more fun if you and your buddies could breathe fire or fly or whatever. Of course, there's no guaranteeing your power would be cool, but—"

"But to non-powered people _any_ special power is cool," Kate finished. "It's been pretty popular this year. But I don't think Peter's on it."

"They've caused a hell of a lot of trouble this year, the MGH users," James said. "Making a bad name for mutants—hitting up drugstores and doing small time muggings, shit like that. I'm not sure I'd put it past little brother if he got desperate enough with that jackwad—what's his name again? Flash or some shit stupid name like that?—but that didn't _look_ like MGH use unless his power is being enormously sweaty."

"Maybe it is just a growth spurt," Kate said with a shrug. "Super serum genes finally kicking in for him."

"Maybe," James agreed, but he didn't look convinced.

Tony, for his part, had no idea what to make of the situation. Kid was acting weird as all fuck—in his experience that meant drugs or alcohol. At any rate, it meant that he had something to hide. And Tony, well, Tony wanted to know just what that was. And Tony Stark _usually_ got what he wanted.


	30. Hibernation

The bruise on his chest was gone. He'd broken the handle on the sink. He'd also destroyed his alarm clock and squirted the mirror with toothpaste, but the sink was the hard one to fix. He'd had to shut off the water main—hoping no one happened to be showering—and then weld it back on because he had actually snapped the metal. He'd never seen Kate or James do that. Then he'd had to mop it up, get dressed, and do a bit of research, because this was _not normal_.

Unfortunately, as he was doing his research, the keys stuck to the tips of his fingers. So there was that. He had an inkling that this had to do with the spider that bit him at Oscorp. What had they said about the missing specimen? It was genetically engineered, Peter knew that much, but that shouldn't affect _him_ unless it carried some sort of MGH like drug in its venom, which Peter found highly suspect. Reasonably, this shouldn't be happening. Peter would have, had it not been for the excessive stickiness and the excessive _twitchiness_—he could just _sense_ things, from that fly to the spider crawling around in his room—there was too much. His senses were _overloaded_ everything just felt like _more_… It was a good thing it was a weekend because he wasn't sure he could cope like this at school. His parents had yelled at him at breakfast. Well, not yelled; he'd received a _stern talking to_, though his mother seemed less inclined to punishing him when he said, honestly, that he'd just fallen asleep on the subway. Hence the lack of a phone signal. They had yelled at him, and Peter didn't like that. He also didn't like the suspicious looks they kept sending him. He didn't like them being suspicious of anything, for he'd never had anything to hide before.

He wasn't entirely certain why he was hiding this. For the most part, Peter was just freaked out. But he didn't, particularly, want to share it with anyone. He didn't want to share this with anyone because, for once in his life, it was something new and unexpected about himself. He'd never had any interesting part to him until now, and he didn't even know how to feel about this interesting part. Was it dangerous? Was it permanent? Would it cease in a few days? Peter had no idea, but the whole thing thrilled him as much as it frightened him.

Partway through the day, after spending a little surreptitious time in the gym and discovering that his strength was through the roof (stronger, even, than James or Kate or probably even his dad), went back up to the kitchen to eat. Super strength meant a super metabolism—something Peter had observed but never felt. It was weird to be sitting in the kitchen eating all of the leftover spaghetti and then still attacking a jar of peanut butter afterwards. Knowing he would polish it off, Peter didn't both to even use a spoon. He just licked his finger.

"I think I've seen you eat more in the last eighteen hours than I have since we've been here," Alt Tony said. He was leaning casually against the doorframe.

"I'm bulking up for wrestling," Peter deadpanned. Alt Tony snorted. And took a seat at the kitchen table across from him.

"Uh-huh. I'm sure," he said. "What's really going on?"

"I'm preparing to hibernate," Peter said. He licked a dollop of peanut butter off his fingertip. Alt Tony watched him, an eyebrow raised.

"No but _really_."

"I'll never make Prom King with my scrawny physique." Alt Tony just rolled his eyes.

"All right I get the picture smart ass: 'screw off'. BUT. Look, I'm not going to tell your parents. I'm not your—we're not _really_ related. I just want to know. What is it? MGH? Steroids? Whatever the hell drug that has your mother's brain connected to the internet? I just want to know how the hell you boosted your reaction time to nearly super human in a matter of hours," Alt Tony said earnestly.

Peter just stared at him for a moment. It was weird, seeing his mother's features on a guy. Or rather, it was weird seeing _his_ features more clearly outlined on another face. It had not passed out of Peter's notice how much he resembled the man—likely because he resembled Howard, who Peter's dad had always told him he resembled. His mother had never said as much, but Peter understood that was for other reasons. Peter had just always found it odd (well, not so much odd as disappointing) that he so resembled a man he had never met instead of his own father. When he looked at James there was no doubt as to where he had come from—but when Peter looked in the mirror, he didn't see it at all. Except, weirdly, when he looked at his mother as a guy. He could easily pick out the features that were his own—and what he was left with, well, strangely enough, were the features of his father. This alternate version of his mother was a filter—but that made Peter wonder in what _other_ ways was he similar to this stranger? Still, that didn't mean he was about to go baring his heart and soul.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You mean the fly maybe? It was just a lucky catch," Peter said nonchalantly. He got up, taking the peanut butter jar with him.

"A likely story," Alt Tony said to him as he left. Peter just saluted him with two sticky fingers and left.


	31. Mistaken Identity

Tony Stark was happy. Unbelievably happy. Some days she just sat and wondered how she had managed to get so lucky in life. She still had no answer to that question, but she didn't much mind.

So, yes, Kate was having problems, and Peter was acting weird, and James was having his usual issues, and there were eight extra pairs of eyes in the house watching their every move, but Tony didn't _care_. Tony didn't care because she was deliriously happy. She hadn't had this much time with Steve in a good long while, and the supervillains of the world seemed strangely inactive. The few plots or incidents that had to be handled could easily be handled by other agents; there was no need to call Captain America or Iron Man to the scene. So she had spent the past couple of mornings waking up to her husband beside her in bed. On this particular morning, however, he was absent. It made sense—it was a Sunday, so he might have gone to an early morning mass with Kate or gone out for a run. Still, even his absence couldn't overturn her good mood. If all went well, they would get to spend the day together. She thought, perhaps, they might even spend some time with Kate and Peter (and James, if he was around) playing board games or building killer robots or whatever. Steve would show up eventually, and then they could plan the day.

Tony headed to the kitchen, dressed in a black negligee and her favorite gold-colored silk robe. Steve always found it a pleasing combination. When she arrived in the doorway, she could see the golden hair of her husband. He sat at the table, newspaper in his right hand. He lifted a coffee mug to his lips and drank with his left. For a moment, Tony just stood in the doorway and watched him. Through his simple white shirt she could see the muscles of his back, impossibly defined. She knew that back well—very well, indeed. No longer capable of resisting the urge, Tony gently padded over from her position and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, letting her hands lazily dangle over his chest. She lightly traced the plane of him with one finger and laid a kiss on his neck, then on his cheek.

"Morning," she said to him, knowing that in that one single '_morning_' contained her plea for him to return to bed. She was moving to kiss his lips, but as she saw his face from the front and about half an inch away, she noticed a bright red blush.

"M—ma'am?" came the choked reply. For a moment, Tony was confused and did not abandon her position. But then the morning fog cleared, and she let go of the poor boy, laughing.

"Oh, God, Steve, I'm so sorry—you look the same from behind," she apologized, still laughing. She headed for the coffee machine, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and filling it. "Sorry I molested you a bit there." Other Steve just choked out a noncommittal noise that Tony implicitly understood as '_no problem, just let me recover_'. As she took a seat across from him, his face still red and his eyes refusing to meet hers, she figured that recovery might require a cold shower. She raised one delicate eyebrow.

"Still only ever kissed Peggy as far as girls are concerned, huh? And that one chick Peggy nearly shot you over," Tony amended, vaguely recalling the story. Other Steve didn't reply, just stared pointedly at his newspaper, his eyes not moving across the page and the muscles in his neck standing out. "How long have you been off ice again?"

"Two years, ma'am," he said tightly.

"Mmm," Tony replied. "Well, it's time you should get out there. Steve had barely been defrosted six months when I dragged him to Cambridge to hit some college parties." Steve, free from his blush now, did not look very enthusiastic. Tony smiled. "You'd have fun, I promise. You just need someone to drag you there first. You just need a me, really." Tony was casually sipping on her coffee before she realized what she'd said. She knew her eyes widened a bit, but she couldn't help it. Other Steve had a lost puppy dog look on his face, and she _hated_ that look on him. It was the very look that had inspired her to grab her own Steve's hand and drag him out of the house, despite the fact that, at the time, she didn't really even _like_ the guy. She just couldn't handle that expression.

"That is—I don't—You don't _need_ a female Tony Stark to, you know, be happy in life or anything. That's not it at all. In fact, I've probably fucked up Steve's life irreparably in a lot of ways so, y'know, I'm not even a number one perfect choice, really, we're just a bit of a happy accident—so you definitely don't _need _a me. Just, someone vaguely similar who will drag you to parties. Clint could even drag you to parties. I just mean, you need someone to drag you into the world, is all—"

"It's ok, ma'am," Other Steve said. He wore a small smile, but it was one that echoed of sadness, and Tony's heart ached for the man. He put down his newspaper and rose. "Excuse me, but I'd planned on running—"

"Of course, of course," Tony said, readily excusing him. He just nodded and then took his leave, never quite ridding himself of that lost expression. It was so difficult to remember that he was not her husband, difficult to remember that this was one Steve whose heart she could not repair. As he disappeared, Tony felt a bit lost herself.


	32. No Love Lost

"I'm impressed you convinced them you two are dating," Natasha commented. Clint had to admit, he was as well. Phil Coulson and Maria Hill struck _no one_ as a couple. There was zero romantic tension there. Although, they did have that bland, straight face of bureaucracy that would as soon tell you to fill out the correct form as shoot you in the chest. Even with that, Clint didn't think they were believable at all, but somehow they had convinced 3490 that they were dating and wished to attend a double date with Natasha and Clint.

Clint would say this for 3490—they certainly spared no expense. The restaurant they were at was one Tony had mentioned days earlier, the Skylight, a restaurant at the top of Four Freedoms Plaza, and it had a _spectacular_ view. They were having dinner early but, as it was the end of October, the sun set in the sky, pink on the horizon. It was a beautiful view out the window. There was a beautiful view next to him, too. Natasha looked positively _radiant_ in a pale blue evening gown Clint knew she'd borrowed from a very insistent 3490 Tony. However immediately in front of him Clint and Maria were holding hands on the table, and that was just _too weird_ for Clint.

"I'm not certain that we did," Phil replied, a smile still on his face. Clint knew what that meant. They'd been tailed.

"I'm not certain it was _necessary_," Natasha said critically. "They've given you as much freedom as they've given us, haven't they? We could have had a normal dinner, not a double date. You might have raised their suspicions unnecessarily by insisting you two are an item."

"We weren't certain how they would react to a request to meet with you, and it seemed to be best to be honest about who we were meeting. They'd find out afterwards anyway, and then they'd be doubly suspicious," Hill defended. Clint could see her grip on Coulson's hand tighten. Coulson, however, ever a rock, did not move a muscle.

"So _dating_ was the solution?" Natasha hissed.

"Ease up, Tasha," Clint said, putting a hand on her lower back to reel her in as well as keep up appearances—they were supposed to be on a date, after all. "Who'd they send after you, Coulson?" Phil just smiled blandly, as ever, though Clint could detect just a _hint_ of actual amusement in his expression.

"You," he said. "They aren't being subtle. You're having dinner with your wife three tables over."

"What?" Clint asked. His knee jerk reaction was to look around for his double, which he did until Natasha kicked his ankle, bringing him back to his senses.

"Don't _look_," Natasha said, exasperated. Clint felt himself redden a bit. He was acting like this was his first mission. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Well now he's coming over, nice work Barton. Everybody smile." Clint couldn't resist—and why should he, at this point—looking at where his double was coming from.

The other man was different. He was Clint's age, but he didn't look quite the same as Clint. Most of the others were exact replicas, but Clint could pick out a few differences even from a distance. He was a touch taller. His hair was longer, and more of a golden-blonde than Clint's own dish-water color, and his eyes were a brighter shade of blue. Even in his tux, he looked roughed up—his hands were covered in white tape, and there were a few healing cuts on his face. He reached the table, looking amused.

"Evening," his Other self spoke, and Clint felt a chill go down his spine. There was nothing weirder than hearing your own voice come out of someone else's mouth. It sounded different, but no different than his own voice sounded to him on recordings. It was a jarring experience all the same. "I'm Clint, nice to meet you other-me, Natasha."

"Likewise," Clint said, still utterly creeped out. It was a strange enough experience, having two Steves or two Tonys around all the time, but it was something else having another _you_ looking at you. He wondered if identical twins felt this way all the time.

"You know, I _know_ you know I'm tailing the four of you," 3490 Clint said. "It's procedure, precaution, call it what you will, you four are dangerous people. We know intimately just _how_ dangerous. So I've got to follow you and make sure you're not going to, I don't know, start shooting up Harlem or something. Start a coup in Manhattan. Assassinate the president. Whatever it is villains are doing these days. But look, there's really no need to be jumpy. I'm on a date with my wife, ok? I'm not conducting audio surveillance on your conversation." He gave a lopsided grin. "Trust me, they don't send the deaf guy for that job. I know you won't, but you _can_ relax. Have a normal dinner. And Hill, you might want to _not_ break all of Coulson's fingers." Maria, looking somewhere between embarrassed and murderous, slowly loosed her grip on Coulson's hand.

No one on the team commented. Clint had no idea what he was supposed to say to his double. He was having difficulty processing the fact that he was talking to another him, still. 3490 Clint didn't seem to be expecting them to say much, though.

"I wanted to thank you, by the way," 3490 Clint said after a few moments of silence. He had a rakish grin on his face and Clint wondered if he really looked like that sometimes. "It's not often I get paid to woo my wife. You all have a nice night, now." Hands in his pockets, 3490 Clint headed back to his own table. Clint could see a beautiful blond waiting for him. Hm. Clint had always preferred redheads.

"So to what degree do we think he's lying?" Natasha mused.

"Well, he is actually deaf," Coulson said. "I tested that a few times. He's either very dedicated to pretending to be deaf or, more likely, actually cannot hear. He wears a hearing aid, though. It's for ambient noises." Clint was having difficulty imagining being deaf. He wondered how it happened—he guessed it was probably an accident. Their lives weren't exactly explosion-free, after all.

"But he's an excellent lip reader. We're in sight of his table. It would be difficult to do from this far, but it's not entirely implausible that he could still be listening in, so to speak," Hill remarked. She had finally let go of Coulson's hand all together, choosing instead to hold her glass of wine. She took a sip.

"Then," Natasha said, putting her elbow on the table and resting her face in her hand, "we'll just have to make his job even harder. Hill put the wine glass to her lips.

"Not a bad idea," she agreed.

"So. Back to business. How much freedom do you have in the Triskelion?" Natasha asked.

"Level Six access, or so they tell us. We have no reason to believe otherwise," Coulson said. He used a slice of bread to obscure his mouth. "Level Six is hardly the deepest layer. It's what they feel comfortable exposing." He took a bite. Clint picked up his own wine. He took a sip—oh, 3490 Tony really knew how to get on a guy's good side. They were certainly trying hard enough.

"We need something that's not even on a level," Natasha said.

"Is that what you broke in for?" Hill asked. "That was _sloppy_, by the way, Romanov."

"It wasn't meant to be subtle. They know we won't sit by passively. The louder we are in our attempts the less likely they are to notice the actual work we're doing," Natasha said. She looked like she was going to murder someone. Clint understood how she felt. Natasha was really in charge of this whole operation on the Avengers' side, and so far no one had show the levels of espionage capability they really needed on these ops. Rogers was all right, and Stark sneaky but mostly all guns and tech, but Thor was an oblivious teddy bear, and Jane and Pepper had brilliant minds but no knowledge of strategy. Bruce was the most promising, but his tendency to turn into a giant green monster under pressure was problematic. Clint knew Natasha was practically tearing her hair out working with such an amateur group as far as spying went, and it was not helping that they couldn't keep in regular communication with the other three to apprise them of their movements. It wasn't safe—they could text or email, but that would all be monitored. They could take walks together every now and then or have coffee, but Clint had no doubt that if they did they'd be followed or bugged or merely interrupted on a semi-regular basis.

"What do you need?" Coulson asked. The waiters arrived with their dinners, so it was a few moments before Clint responded, once the staff had cleared.

"525. Earth 525—anything on it," he said.

"Why? What's Earth 525?" Hill asked, digging into her pasta.

"Most of the file was redacted," Natasha responded. "It's an anomaly amongst the others. We need the full file, the real file." Clint was having difficulty focusing single-mindedly on the mission at hand. How could he, when there was such a nice steak in front of him? Natasha had no such problems. She had yet to touch her salmon.

"Well that's not suspicious," Hill said, raising an eyebrow. "Are we sure they didn't plant it for you to find?"

"We're not sure of anything here, Hill, what do you want me to say? You can't even tell me with 100% certainty whether or not a guy is deaf," Natasha snapped.

"Tasha," Clint spoke softly. She was wound tight, and Clint had no idea how to unwind her. It had been bad from the start, but Clint knew that it had gotten worse after her mission to the Triskelion five days ago. Seeing her double had shaken her up, even if she wouldn't tell him that. He couldn't blame her—it was _freaky_ seeing himself.

"We work in relatives. It's what we do. I know," Natasha said, taking a breath. "I just want to know their angle."

"We'll find it," Coulson assured them in that effortlessly confident way he had. "And we'll work from there once we do."

Clint hoped so. He glanced at his double. His wife was laughing at something he'd said. 3490 him was obviously captivated by her. Four kids. Clint couldn't believe that until he saw them together. He felt a gentle hand on his knee. He met Natasha's eyes, grateful for the anchor. They would have to be each other's anchors for the time being. With nothing else to guide them, they would have to do. It wouldn't be the first time.


	33. Wall Crawler

If Peter had been thinking more clearly, he probably would have picked a less public location to test his new abilities, but Peter hadn't really been thinking very clearly. Which was how he ended up on the ceiling of the gym, staring down at an upside down guy version of his mother.

Still weird.

"So is this what the kids are doing these days?" guy Mom asked sardonically.

"Uh."

"I guess that's a no," Alt Tony said. Peter did a flip down from the ceiling. "Ok, you were definitely not that athletic last Tuesday when you were getting your ass kicked." Peter felt his face redden a bit. He was still embarrassed that the Alts had been witness to such a humiliating moment for him.

"Uh."

"Look, I promise I'm not going to rat you out to your parents just—_how?" _Alt Tony asked. He looked genuinely curious—it was the same look Mom got whenever she stumbled upon a new theory or equation, whenever she was _close_ to solving a puzzle but not quite there, or whenever anybody let her touch alien tech.

"I don't—I'm not really sure on the specifics," Peter admitted finally. There was no point in hiding it when he'd been caught stuck to the ceiling. "But, short story, I got bit by a spider on my field trip." Alt Tony raised both of his eyebrows practically into his hairline.

"That's one hell of a spider."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you're not going to just—you know—turn _into _a spider?"

"I hadn't really considered that. No," Peter said, blinking. "But thanks for scaring the crap out of me."

"Hey, if there's one thing I'm good at," Alt Tony said with a grin that quickly disappeared. "Seriously though you should probably get checked out. Who knows what kind of strain your body is going through right now?" Peter jammed his hands in his pockets.

"It's been ok so far," he mumbled. Alt Tony quirked an eyebrow up.

"Oh yeah. 'So far' is a great scientific predictor of the future," he retorted.

"Well what's a hospital going to say anyway?" Peter challenged. "Probably 'sorry, can't help you'. So what does it matter?"

"If I had to guess, one of the dozens of scientists your mother employs could at least figure out whether or not your cells are still mutating or if you've stabilized," Alt Tony pointed out. Peter shrugged obstinately. He was _sure_ Bruce could tell him that. And now that he was actually thinking it, it wasn't a half bad idea. But… he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to just yet. Alt Tony just rolled his eyes at his hesitation.

"Or just be a dumbass, sure, whatever, that's not at all the start of every Super Villain origin ever or anything," Alt Tony said. Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"It's not—it's not that I don't want…to know. I just—I kind of wanted to figure out what I can do before I tell anybody about it. I want it to be…I want it to be _mine_ for a little while, you know? Just mine. I guess that's…I guess that's stupid, and you know now anyway," Peter said reluctantly. Alt Tony's interest piqued.

"No, I get it. But what _can_ you do?"

"Uh. I stick. To everything. I'm not 100% sure how to turn it on and off yet," Peter admitted. "I took all the keys off my keyboard yesterday."

"Can you stick to…glass?"

"Yeah," Peter said. One of the walls of the gym was a mirror, mainly for Kate's ballet practice, but it was also useful in sparring, so Peter demonstrated. He crawled up the glass, sticking perfectly. Alt Tony looked fascinated.

"That's…huh. That's a sheer surface. Interesting," he said.

"I'm pretty sure I stick to anything," Peter said. "I could stick to the walls of the shower even when they were wet." Alt Tony abruptly grabbed Peter's wrist, examining his hand.

"Have you looked at your skin under a microscope?" Tony asked.

"Can't get into Mom's lab without her," Peter said with a displeased twist of his mouth. Alt Tony smiled slowly, mischievously.

"Well, good thing she gave me a spot at the Tower downtown, huh?" Alt Tony said. "Put on some real clothes kid—let's go solve the puzzle of _you_." Peter grinned. Yeah. All right. This he could do.


	34. SCIENCE

Bruce, despite his brief encounter with the 199999 Avengers, had not yet really interacted with them much. He was not aware that any of them were particularly close to his own Avengers or their children yet—it had only been three weeks, after all. He was, therefore, a bit gobsmacked when Peter texted him to meet him at Stark Tower and he arrived to find male Tony and his own double in the lab with Peter sticking to the ceiling, barefoot.

"Hey Uncle Bruce," Peter said, giving him an upside down wave. "So uh. I got bit by a genetically altered possibly radioactive spider and now we're doing science. Sound fun?"

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and almost walked right back out.

"So I'm guessing," Bruce said, walking further into the lab anyway, "you want me to help figure out whether or not this is going to kill you or disappear, and so on and so forth?"

"That _would_ be really helpful," Peter said, pulling his bambi eyes out on him. "Other You is already on the case though. I just thought you might like to join us in our science." Peter flipped down from the ceiling. It was startling, to find the gawky, awkward teen suddenly so agile. Bruce had always had a soft spot for the youngest of the Rogers brood. He was the most like Tony in her best ways, and the most like Steve in his, and, unlike the other two, he was _normal_. No super-soldier genes had graced his muscles, and thus Peter was a geeky, defenseless kid the same way Bruce had been. The same way Peter's father—who had been an inspiration for young, elementary school Bruce—had been. He had none of Tony's blustering confidence or arrogant charm, either. He had no defenses, not even emotional ones (though, his snarky attitude came close). Bruce was more than a little taken aback to find him able to flip down from the ceiling with all the grace and ease of any of the kids who trained at the Avengers Academy.

"And what science is that, exactly?" Bruce asked.

"We're finding his limits," male Tony responded with a lazy grin, and Bruce felt his hackles raise.

"And just _what_ does that entail, precisely?" Bruce demanded. Male Tony's expression changed to one of surprise and he put his hands up.

"Woah, easy, we're not breaking the kid's bones to see how fast they heal or anything," Tony said. "We've been doing surface tests, for one thing. He sticks to glass." Bruce whipped around to look at Peter.

"Your hands are using atomic force to stay in place?" he asked.

"Just like a spider," Peter said. Bruce removed his glasses, cleaned them off with the bottom of his shirt, and put them back on.

"Well then, what are we waiting for? We've got science to do," Bruce said decidedly. Peter's face split into a wide grin. There, now, that was the Peter Bruce knew.

After a few hours, they'd run just about every relevant test they could think of. They'd tried force tests, to see how much Peter could hold before slipping off a surface—they hadn't had enough weight for him to hold, but ended up with an estimate of several tons per finger.

"Though, I wouldn't recommend trying to hold too much—after all you might still be able to _stick _to the wall with ten tons hanging off of you, but at what point does your arm rip from your body?" male Tony mused at one point.

"Lovely imagery there," Peter remarked.

"Are we talking sudden or gradual force here?" Bruce's double inquired.

"Ok, no, enough with the tearing me limb from limb question here," Peter said, ending that particular line of scientific inquiry.

Peter dead lifted a full ton in the lab with no trouble—male Tony wanted to conduct additional field tests to see just _how_ muchhe could lift, but it would have to wait for another day. Peter's reflexive abilities were off the charts, and his perception had changed to the point that he could dodge paintball bullets male Tony shot at him at Peter's own request. Peter wanted to try something faster, but none of them were sure how to achieve that without actually shooting something potentially deadly at him, so the idea dropped. Peter's tendons and connective tissues were over twice as flexible as a normal human.

"I'm no Reed, though," Peter said even as he contorted himself into a position that made even Bruce, with all his years of yoga, wince to look at. As he got up, Bruce wrote down the final pieces of their findings. The only thing left were the biological tests, most of which would not show results until the morning.

"Who's Reed?" male Tony asked.

"Brilliant scientist. Scatterbrained though. And he has powers of elasticity which are—well, they're useful but frankly a little disturbing to see sometimes. You get used to it, though. Sort of. He's our go-to guy for time travel, alternate universes and the like. I'm sure you'll meet him at some point," Bruce said. "He's also in the Fantastic Four, another superhero team around here."

"You seem to have a lot of those," his double remarked. His expression was guarded. Bruce understood (unsurprisingly).

"Well, we have enough problems to warrant it," he answered. "And when we don't? Sometimes it's nice to let another team take care of the problem. We don't exactly lead normal lives, but we couldn't have even any _semblance_ of normal life without the other teams." Bruce watched as Peter climbed back onto the ceiling, apparently his new favorite place. He looked up at his favorite young 'nephew'. "You know, people are going to start calling you 'spider-boy' if you don't cut that out."

"Spider-_Boy_?" Peter huffed in indignation. "_Boy_? I think not. Spider-_Man_ is more like it."

"Can you even grow peach fuzz on your cheeks?" male Tony asked, teasing.

"How dare you question my masculinity," Peter replied.

"So that's a no, then."

Peter pouted and kept arguing in a snark-off with male Tony. Bruce elected to join his double at a computer while he ran specs on some of Peter's blood. So far the blood itself seemed normal—Bruce had his suspicions that the bite had somehow altered Peter's genetics but left most of his essential human-ness alone. At least, he hoped that was the case.

"Peter told me you have kids," his double spoke to him suddenly. His tone was light, but Bruce knew himself well enough to know that he was just doing his best to keep cool.

"Two," Bruce replied carefully. "Brian and Lyra." His double nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the computer screen.

"And that—how did that work, exactly, might I ask?" his double asked. His expression was a careful blank. Bruce felt his own chest tighten.

"Oh," Bruce replied, too overcome with sudden emotion to say anything. He knew why his double was asking. "Oh it—I don't—Betty and I got married before—before everything." His double was still. Very still, very calm, very natural. Bruce felt his gut twisting for this far less fortunate version of himself. And yet at the same time he felt a perverse relief, a 'better him than me' feeling, and he hated himself for that.

"I see," his double replied. "Of course."

That was the end of that conversation.

"Hey, Uncle Bruce! Check this out!" Peter called. He was stuck to the ceiling again, but this time his hands and feet were free—he had removed his shirt and stuck there with his back alone. He had such an expression of glee on his face that Bruce recalled the time when he was six and the whole Avengers and all their family went to DisneyLand for the day. That same smile had never left his face. Bruce recognized that smile not just in Peter, but in all of the kids. Kate smiled that way when she'd told him proudly that she'd gotten the part of Clara in the _Nutcracker_. James smiled that way when he was ten and he got back from a full day of playing at the ball park with Steve, just the two of them. But it wasn't a smile specific to the Rogers. Bruce knew that smile because Lyra wore it when she won her first science fair, because Brian wore it when he got his acceptance letter to MIT. And in that moment, with Peter grinning at him, happy to share this moment with them, Bruce felt an incredible pang of sadness. Because he doubted if his double would ever know what it was to recognize that smile in the face of your child.


	35. A Friend

"I noticed you were gone yesterday," Steve said. Tony sat on the living room couch, tablet in hand. No one else was around—the kids were at school, 3490 Tony and 3490 Steve were working, Thor and Jane had flitted off to Stark Tower as per usual, and Bruce had joined them. Clint and Natasha were—actually, Steve had no idea, but he rarely knew where either of them were—they slipped in and out of the mansion at their leisure, always quiet. Even Pepper was gone. So Steve, feeling lonely in the empty mansion and still not sure what to do with himself, had wandered into the living room and found Tony.

Of course, he didn't know how to talk to Tony. He had never begun a friendly conversation with the other man. They had nothing in common, nothing _to_ talk about. And now, every conversation they could have felt like they were dancing around land mines. He wanted to get rid of that. He had enough trouble talking with Tony like a normal person without extra awkwardness hanging between them. He wasn't really sure how to broach this topic. In all honesty, he wasn't sure even what topic he _was_ broaching. He just knew that all topics involving any kind of Tony these days were difficult to have. There was just no getting past the weirdness of their situation. At least, not for Steve. As ever, Tony appeared to be handling things with a cool head, an easy attitude, and a few inappropriate jokes. Tony just raised an eyebrow at Steve's gentle conversation starter.

"Yes?" he said. "And? Am I supposed to consult you now, before I go out, Dad?" Steve wrinkled his nose and made a bit of a face. He couldn't help it.

"No, of course not—and please never call me that again. I knew Howard after all, this is all still so…." Steve couldn't come up with an appropriate term. Weird didn't cover it. First he was transported in time to the future, and he was still processing _that. _Then, it turns out, he has to work with Howard's son who, in Steve's initial observation, essentially typified the 'rich brat' persona and was nothing of the self-made man Howard had been. And it was incredibly odd to know that the man, older than him, was Howard's son. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around it. And yet, he had to put away these musings, because the reality of the situation was in front of him. Tony was Howard's son, but he was by no means a child. He might have started on third base, but Tony'd hit three home runs on his own since. There was a ghost of history of the could have been still haunting Steve, and Tony was weirdly still slotted into that picture—he just had to learn to blot it out, to blot it all out. He was having difficulty coping.

Tony regarded him with a look that spelled suspicion. Caution. Perhaps, even, if he squinted, sympathy. But if there was any of that last there, it was gone quickly.

"Did you come to me because you need someone to moan at about the whole time travel thing and how much your life sucks because I'm really not the guy for that," Tony said dryly. Steve's jaw locked. He had a thousand things to say to this asshole and none of them were pleasant, except perhaps one, which was 'maybe I did'. Steve didn't know anymore. He didn't have anyone to talk to. Did he need to talk? He would have talked to Peggy. He would give anything to talk to Peggy. He would make a deal with the Devil himself to bring Bucky back. He could talk to them. Sometimes he talked to Natasha. Or Natasha talked to him, or tried to set him up with women at SHIELD. But mostly he and Natasha just joked, or were busy running missions together. Natasha was probably the closest he had to a friend in this century. But Natasha wasn't around.

"Pardon me for bothering you, Mr. Stark," Steve replied sarcastically. "I forgot you're so busy these days." He left, feeling angry and upset. Tony generally had that effect.

But then there was another Tony. A woman Tony. A Tony who was all snark and humor but without the sharp edges. She was funny and vibrant and ridiculously intelligent (maybe Tony from his universe was too—certainly he was intelligent, but all his humor was used to tear others down, all his vibrancy was drained by the press constantly in his face). Her words and attitude were never cruel. She was obstinate, obviously still a wild card, but somehow she made it charming instead of irritating. And she was his double's wife. His double, who had friends abound, who had clearly adjusted to this new century with ease, managed to embrace it and everyone in it, managed to move on and thrive. He worked a lot, but he didn't drown himself in it. Steve didn't like admitting it, but that was exactly what he was doing. If he was always at work, he didn't have time to think about anything else. Now that he couldn't work, he was at a loss.

He wandered into the kitchen. He was hungry. He was almost always hungry. He ate an embarrassing amount, and no matter how rich 3490 Tony and Steve were he felt bad mooching. Still, he didn't want to starve. So he got out some whole wheat bread, mayo, lettuce, tomato and some deli turkey. He was searching for swiss cheese in the fridge when he heard Tony behind him.

"Do they have pastrami?" he asked. Steve found the swiss, took it out of the fridge, shut the door, and shrugged. If Tony wanted a sandwich he'd have to scavenge for it himself. Tony looked a bit put out, and Steve could not fathom the audacity of that emotion given the present context. He set about assembling his sandwich. Tony got the pastrami out of the fridge.

"Ok, look, my default setting is dick, you should know that by now," Tony pointed out. Steve grunted. "Ugh, you're really going to make me say it, aren't you? Fine. _Fine_. Sorry, Cap. Look, I shouldn't make fun of the shit you've gone through. What did you want to talk about anyway?"

"Nothing," Steve replied. He took a bite out of his sandwich and started putting things back in the fridge—Tony was finished with his sandwich, too—he'd only put swiss cheese with the pastrami.

"Aw, come on, big guy, if you've got to get mushy with somebody it might as well be me, you don't have a therapist in this world," Tony needled.

"I don't need another therapist, Tony," Steve said, belatedly realizing that he was using his sandwich-holding hand to gesture sternly, which made him look rather ridiculous.

"Then what _did_ you need? A superhero to hash out strategy with? A financial adviser? A techie to help you fix your laptop?" Tony asked. He sounded genuinely curious, and it just irritated Steve further.

"I could fix my _own_ laptop, Tony, I'm not as helpless as you apparently think I am," Steve said. He put the bread back in a cupboard. He might have slammed the door shut with unnecessary force, but luckily it didn't break—a super-soldier proof house came in handy. Tony's brow was creased. He looked like he was _studying_ Steve, like Steve was alien tech or a section of code he couldn't quite puzzle out. Steve shook his head. "I wasn't looking for any of those things, Tony. I was just looking for a friend."

Steve left before Tony could say anything else insulting.


	36. Not Dying

Peter's heart was in his throat. He didn't know _why_. His parents were both superheroes. They dealt with shit weirder than their kid developing spider-based superpowers on a regular basis. It wasn't like they were going to panic and kick him out, as happened with too many mutants. Still, Peter was jittery, like he'd swallowed fifty butterflies and they were kicking up a storm in his gut.

Tony had made him _swear_ to tell his parents. Not that Peter had really been planning on hiding it, but Tony made sure that as _soon_ as Bruce had the results from his tests that proved that Peter was in perfect health and was (likely) going to stay that way that Peter would tell his parents. Bruce had gotten the results back that morning, and Tony had confronted him with a raised eyebrow and folded arms that afternoon when he got back from school. His parents had returned home in time for dinner—Peter didn't tell them before, or during, and after dinner Tony gave him that _look_ again. It was weird how much of Mom he could see in that look. That look made him feel guilty, so of course, he slunk to the living room where his parents were. They sat on the couch, arguing over the remote—Mom wanted to watch _CSI_, Dad wanted to watch _Grey's Anatomy_. It was a regular occurrence, despite the DVR.

Peter cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Dad paused and so did Mom, stuck in their fight. Dad was reaching up to grab the remote that Mom held up high and behind her head. They looked at him for a moment, but he couldn't get his throat to work properly.

"Peter? What is it?" Mom asked. "Are you ok?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm…Can I just…have a few minutes to talk to you guys?" he asked. Mom put down the remote and they changed positions to look less ridiculous.

"Of course, Peter," Dad said. "Why don't you take a seat?"

"I—I'll lose my nerve if I do—ok, look, here I go—ok, so that field trip? To Oscorp? Uh, something…weird happened there. Really weird. And uh ok IgotbittenbyaspiderandnowIhavespiderpowers."

Mom and Dad were silent. Peter just stood there and stared with wide eyes, feeling like a complete idiot.

"I—could you repeat that? Slowly?" Mom requested. Peter took a deep breath.

"I got bitten by a spider and now I have spider powers," Peter repeated.

"Ok, I'm not crazy, you really said that," Mom said, more to herself than Peter.

"What—what do you _mean_ spider powers, Peter?"

"Uh. I stick to stuff now. Like ceilings and glass and—anything, actually, I'm using atomic force—well, not _consciously_ or anything—but—uh yeah. And I'm—I'm really strong now, like stronger-than-James strong. And I heal pretty fast. And I'm really flexible. And I might have some kind of precognition? I don't know, my reflexes are ridiculous now but there's something else, too, I haven't fully got a handle on it—ok, please stop looking at me like that, that's what I was afraid of—"

"Oh _Peter_," Mom breathed out. She got up and hugged him tight, which was weird. Mom was affectionate but she wasn't really the hugging type; that was Dad's thing. "We—we need to get you to a hospital, make sure everything will be ok—maybe SHIELD medical—I'll call Bruce—"

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Peter reassured her. "I already—I did that yesterday. Testing and whatever. With Bruce. And uh, other Tony and other Bruce. Other Tony, he uh, he kind of caught me on the ceiling, so."

Dad had gotten up from his seat now by this point as well, coming to stand beside Mom. His expression was difficult to read, but he looked…a bit sad. So did Mom.

"I'm not _dying_," Peter reiterated. "Or turning into a spider."

"And it's permanent?" Mom asked. "Bruce thinks it's permanent?" She let him go, but only just. She still held onto his shoulders gently.

"Yeah! Yeah, he thinks it's permanent," Peter said, smiling. Mom closed her eyes and let out a breath, and Peter's smile disappeared. "Isn't this—I mean, it's _awesome_. It's—I'm happy. It's really cool. And now—I can go to the Academy now, with Kate and everybody."

"But you don't _have_ to," Mom said earnestly. Peter's eyes flicked from Mom to Dad, confused. Neither of them was happy, he was slowly realizing, and not because they were under the impression he was dying.

"But I _want_ to," Peter said. "I'm—I can—I have _powers_ now." Peter thought that would clear things up. He didn't understand how they _couldn't_ understand. Mom's hands fell away from his shoulders and she went back to sit down on the couch, putting her head in her hands like this was immensely difficult for her. Peter looked to Dad. He couldn't lie. He felt hurt. He felt _rejected_. Dad put a hand on his shoulder.

"We know, Peter," he said. "We—we're just a bit surprised, is all."

"I thought you'd be happy for me," Peter said, letting the hurt bleed through.

"Peter, son, we love you, spider powers or none. But I just don't think you quite understand," Dad tried to explain, looking pained. Peter wrenched away from his Dad's warm presence.

"No _you_ don't understand," Peter said, practically shouting. "And you of all people _should_. I've been scrawny and weak and _nothing_ all my life. I get my ass kicked at school by an idiot jock with a vendetta on a regular basis. I'm nothing and nobody and I've never even had _friends_. And now—now I have a chance to _be_ somebody. To do good things, to be like you and Mom and Kate and, fuck, even _James _and you look like I'm telling you the dog died."

"You're getting beat up at school?" Dad asked softly. Mom had removed her hands from her face to look at him forlornly.

"_Fuck_, Dad," Peter said in exasperation. He just turned around and left the room, hot tears of anger and disappointment building behind his eyes and in his throat.


	37. Happy Halloween

"You look like somebody kicked your dog."

"We don't have a dog."

"We have Lucky."

"Lucky's the Bartons' dog."

"Only mostly."

"I don't live at their house like you do. I've been there like, twice."

"Ok but Lucky was here for two years before they moved. He's practically our dog, too."

"Yeah, our dog that they took with them when they moved."

"Christ, Peter, who pissed in your coffee?" Kate finally demanded. She entered his room, unwelcome, uninvited, and sat on his bed where Peter currently lay, throwing a ball up to the ceiling and then catching it on its way down. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"Fuck off, Kate."

"Ok, _seriously,_" Kate said, furrowing her eyebrows at her brother. She'd seen her twin angry before, but she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him quite like this. "I'd ask if your girlfriend broke up with you, but. So what happened?"

"It's none of your business."

"Oh _as if_," Kate scoffed. "I'm your twin. Everything's my business." Peter caught the ball and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh? Is that a two-way street? Is everything of yours _my_ business? Ok, here's one: where'd you get the weed you've got stashed in your bathroom behind the tampons?" Peter asked.

"Ok, first of all _why_ were you in my bathroom, second _why_ were you rummaging through my _stuff_ in my bathroom?" Kate asked. Peter ignored her and went back to throwing the ball at the ceiling. Kate bristled. She didn't like being ignored.

"Peter! Come on, what's wrong? I'm shocked you're angry. I'm _super_ angry. Guess who has been grounded from Halloween parties? I figured Mom would let up for the holiday but—nope."

"Wow, I am so sorry for your tragedy, Kate. It's absolutely terrible that you snuck out of the house and got completely fucking trashed and now have to suffer actual _consequences_," Peter said. He threw his ball up in the air. Kate glared. Kate punched him on the shoulder. He glared right back at her. "Ow."

"Ok, I don't like this new Peter, this doesn't-tell-me-shit-and-is-an-ass Peter. Give me back my brother. _Talk_ to me. There's a bug up your ass, maybe I can help you," Kate said.

"You're not going to leave until I tell you something, are you?" Peter asked, still clearly irritated. Kate crossed her arms emphatically. Peter rolled his eyes. "Fine. Look, I told the parents something important, and I thought they'd be happy for me, but now they're acting like the world fucking caved in and—I'm just so _tired_ of it, Kate. I'm tired of _my life_. They just don't get it."

"Did you get a girlfriend?" Kate asked.

"No."

"Did you have sex?"

"…No?"

"Hey, you never know."

"Why would I tell _our parents_ if I'd had sex?" Kate shrugged.

"I guess it's different for guys. I had to tell Mom to get on the pill," she said. Peter wrinkled his nose.

"Too much detail about your sex life, Kate. I like to pretend you and your boyfriends just hold hands and look at each other with gooey expressions," Peter said. Kate rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. So what was it?" she asked.

"You're not going to believe me."

"We live in a house where our parents have doubles and one of them is also a guy. We live in a world where this is _not a weird occurrence_. I'm pretty sure I'll believe you," Kate said.

"Ok, fine. I've got spider powers. Like, I stick to walls now and have super strength and speed and reflexes and something about precognition, probably. Something near to it anyway, I haven't worked out the kinks yet," Peter said.

"You're _shitting_ me," Kate said. Peter's expression was one of total irritation and exasperation. "No, no, I believe you, I just—when the hell did _that_ happen? It was Friday, right? Friday was weird."

"_You're_ telling _me_," Peter said. "Weirdest day of my life. Yeah, it was Friday. I got bit by a spider at Oscorp."

"What the fuck are they juicing those spiders with?" Kate asked.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing the FDA will want to," Peter said dryly. "And probably at least a dozen other regulatory agencies. And SHIELD, once Mom and Dad come out of their stupor."

"Ok, but can you really _blame_ them for their stupor?" Kate asked, she shoved him over, making room for her to lie down beside him on her stomach. She fiddled with his pillowcase. "I mean, that's not something you can drop on someone and figure it'll be all peachy."

"Why _not_?" Peter demanded, finally meeting her gaze. Her twin's expression was all fire. "You don't _get it_ Kate. All my life I've been the _one_ Rogers kid with _no powers_. You and James have always gotten to go to Avengers Academy, learn to save the world—and what can I do? I can get my ass kicked for talking back to Flash Thompson. Francis—_Francis_ doesn't even have powers and _he's_ been in the Academy since we were kids. He'll be a SHIELD agent the minute he graduates. But that's never been an option for me. I've always—I've always been on the outside, Kate. And now I have a chance to be on the inside, to really make a difference, and they were _upset_ about it."

"Don't make this about making a difference, Peter, or saving the world," Kate said, raising a single eyebrow. "This is about _you_ no matter how you want to spin it, and you _know_ it. And I get that you've had it rough. But we've _all_ had our problems, Peter. Yes, James and I both actually have real problems to deal with, funny enough. And no, they don't involve getting beaten bloody by an asshole, but they _are_ problems."

"You just don't _get _it," Peter said, clearly still angry. Kate rolled her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow to peer down at her twin.

"Yes, I do. You're feeling sorry for yourself because you don't have powers so you're not 'special', boo hoo. And hey, go ahead, we all deserve to feel sorry for ourselves sometimes. God knows it's practically all I do some days. But did you ever stop to consider that maybe what you thought made you _not_ special actually did the opposite?" Kate asked.

"That's bullshit, Kate," Peter said flatly.

"BS?" Kate asked. "Really? So it's total BS that you're the only Rogers who didn't _have_ to go to Avengers Academy? Who didn't _have_ to spend weekends studying strategy or learning tae kwon do or getting thrown to the floor by a sparring partner twice your age? Who didn't have to spend years having teachers spew 'you're the future of our nation' shit at you? You've always gotten away with more, too. When _you_ pull a prank, Mom thinks it's funny and endearing. When _I_ try to pull something, I get yelled at. When _you_ get a bad grade, Dad takes you aside and tells you to try harder—when _I_ get a bad grade Mom threatens to stop letting me go to parties, or take away ballet lessons, or ban me from training with Francis and Clint for a month." Kate flopped back onto her stomach. "Speaking of, our report cards are coming out soon and I'm probably dead." She basically muttered that last, head stuck into Peter's pillow. It smelled like her shampoo because Peter's had run out a week ago and he was too lazy to buy more and instead kept stealing from her shower. Which probably explained the tampons thing.

Peter didn't say anything for a while, and Kate was content to just lie there and try not to think about all the classes she was neglecting. Her mother might have banned her from going out, but she hadn't banned her from the internet or breathed down her neck while she finished homework. And after a long day at school and longer days ahead with no friends to hang out with, the last thing she ever wanted to do was more work. So she often spent her afternoons reading, or chatting on Facebook, or practicing her cello or devouring a television series on Netflix. She currently had thing for Apocalypse shows. All of that never left much time at the end of the night for school work, and frankly she never wanted to do it anyway, so half the time she just didn't.

She knew she couldn't afford not to. This was her junior year of high school, a make-or-break year for colleges. She wanted to get into every Ivy League she could—preferably a school out on the west coast. She wanted a change of scenery. She wanted to get away, but she'd lost all excitement for school. She didn't know what she wanted to do. She wasn't particularly passionate about anything except archery, ballet, and cello, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be a music or dance major—that would turn it into work. Sometimes she thought about skipping university all together, but she always dismissed the idea quickly. She would be an unskilled high school graduate—who would hire her? Maybe she would take a gap year. She rolled onto her side and looked at her brother who was still staring up at the ceiling.

"What're you thinking about?" Kate asked.

"That I just don't want to be Peter the Loser anymore," he said quietly.

"I kind of like Peter the Loser," Kate said. "He's always been a really good person. And a good brother."

They laid in silence for a bit longer before Kate finally got up.

"They'll come around, you know," she said. "They'll be supportive once they know it's what you want."

"Yeah," Peter said, not sounding particularly convinced. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you dressed like a witch?"

"I'm insulted you didn't notice before this."

"Well, it's black and skimpy, it's not exactly a far cry from your usual attire," Peter said dryly. Kate punched him on the shoulder again. "I thought you couldn't go to any Halloween parties?"

"I'm not," Kate said. "I'm answering the door for the trick-or-treaters. Francis is coming over to help. He's a zombie. Why don't you put something on and come downstairs and help with us?"

"And watch you and Francis make out on the couch? No thanks," Peter said, wrinkling his nose.

"You know as well as I do that Francis refuses to touch a hair on my head in a non-platonic manner," Kate pointed out. It still annoyed her. Francis' lack of reciprocation was a constant irritant to her. She _knew_ he liked her. He wouldn't stick around if he didn't. But some misplaced sense of honor kept him even from _kissing_ her—what was up with that? Kate didn't understand, and Francis' flings only further confused her. She had no problem with it. They weren't dating. But. She went over to Peter's drawers and started searching through them.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Peter asked, finally getting up off the bed.

"Finding you a costume. You said you can stick to walls now, right?" Kate asked.

"Yeah. So?"

Kate grinned evilly and handed him the beginnings of a ninja costume. That was how, a few hours later, Francis and Kate ended up answering the door for trick-or-treaters, handing out candy, with Peter then jumping straight down from the ceiling right in front of the older kids. They always ran away screaming. After one middle school boy the size of a tank ran away as fast as his thick legs would carry him, screaming for his mother, Kate couldn't help, amidst their laughter, but to look over at her brother.

"Happy Halloween, Peter."


	38. Happy and Halloween

She had a book in her hand, and a mug of tea, but she'd put both of those down on an end table so that she could solemnly shake the hand of an insistent little red headed girl dressed as a princess who was probably no more than eight years old. She had a soft smile on her face as she did so, as she spoke with the little girl, and her older brother, who was likely twelve or thirteen. Eventually she stopped and conversed briefly with their parents, 3490 Pepper and 3490 Pepper's husband, Happy. Tony could see the wistfulness in her eyes. He could see the longing and the soft jealousy as the little red head tugged at her mother's dress and demanded they move on to other houses for trick-or-treating.

It was never going to work out with Pepper. In the end, they just weren't suited for each other. Pepper didn't like his new job—it was too stressful for her. Tony didn't want further commitment, at least not in the way Pepper wanted it. He didn't want marriage or the white picket fence, the kids or the dog. He didn't want anything his double had in this universe.

And yet.

He wondered under what circumstances he would. Clearly, some version of himself had wanted those things. Clearly, some version of himself had wanted those things with _Steve Rogers_. It was a bizarre concept to him, and it had been nagging at him every since he and Antonella had spoken last. He still couldn't figure out why she'd done it. Tony had loved Pepper, but he had never felt the urge to marry her.

What made Steve Rogers so special?

Or what made his _double_ so different?

As he watched Pepper wave goodbye to the children she so clearly wished were hers, Tony couldn't watch anymore. He headed to the living room where he knew Antonella was. He would get answers. He had to.


	39. I Do

Tony Stark's mind was in about six different places when her double took a seat next to her on the couch. For one thing, her mind was _literally_ in about six different places—she was monitoring a few different situations via the internet, sending out texts to those who required instruction and planning for the next day. Halloween was often a busy day for SHIELD—plenty of mutants took it as the opportune time to reveal themselves, and they weren't all wanna-be heroes and vigilantes. Not only was she keeping an eye on SHIELD operations, but the back of her mind was spinning wheels, trying to get a handle on the idea that her son, the _one_ child of hers who had the chance for a perfectly normal life, the one who could get away and reap the benefits of the safe world she and Steve had built, now had superpowers and was _adamant_ that he use them.

Well, the superpowers might surprise her but the other part didn't. Peter was Steve's son, through and through, in ways that James wasn't. Of course he would want to follow the legacy and be a superhero. She had worried that he would follow that path anyway—build his own suit if she refused to give him one, or invent something new and run into the field with it, wholly unprepared. Tony supposed that she should really be happy—at least this way he had a healing factor and superhuman strength. At least he wouldn't go into battle with all the vulnerable points she had when she first started out. But still the thought of Peter in the field made her throat clench and her stomach churn. She could handle the idea of Kate out there. She hated it, but she could _handle_ it. Kate had her father's genetics. Kate was ridiculously intelligent. But more importantly, Kate was selfish.

Now, Tony did not believe that was _all_ Kate was, or that it was a dominant part of her personality. Kate was selfish in the best of ways—Kate looked out for herself. Kate had an instinct for self-preservation. Kate was not shrinking or self-sacrificing. Kate owned herself and never let anyone take parts of her that she had not given them permission to remove. But Peter was wholly unselfish. Peter was sweet and soft and vulnerable. He had Steve's heart, and that frightened Tony. Because she knew, that when push came to shove, Peter would never think first of himself.

Unaware of the storm raging inside her head, her double had decided to sit beside her. They could hear the doorbell ringing and the door opening and closing as Peter, Kate, and Francis manned their stations for Halloween. They could hear the screams whenever Peter surprised a group of older kids by jumping down from the ceiling. The television was also going, stuck on CNN. Steve had been around, but inevitably he had gotten called in for duty—there was trouble with a mutant party raging at House of M, the most exclusive club, solely for mutants, in the city. Other Pepper had been around as well, reading a book and sipping her tea, but she'd disappeared at some point, probably to find somewhere a bit quieter. So it was just Tony alone on the couch until her double sat down.

"So I keep thinking," her double said abruptly, immediately doing away with any pretense that he was there to watch the news, "about that conversation we had."

"Oh?" Tony asked softly. She didn't see him, not really. She was still going through her e-mail.

"I've got to say, that vacant expression thing is really disconcerting," her double said pointedly. "I still can't believe your brain is essentially a PC. That must have taken guts to do to yourself. Anyway, I keep thinking about that conversation we had and more about—about why you got married in the first place." Tony sighed and shut down the things she was doing with Extremis, rejoining the here and now. Her double's expression was earnest, which was odd on him. She fought off the urge to tell him sarcastically that she had nothing better or more important to do than play psychiatrist with an even more emotionally constipated version of herself. She was not the touchy-feely type, and her double even more so. If he wanted to talk it was because he _had_ to, because he couldn't think of any other way to get it out of his thought process and move on. She looked at him and gave him her full attention, though she still could not drum up any enthusiasm.

"And?" Tony asked. She decided she would have to soften herself up a bit when her double seemed to recoil slightly at her dry tone.

"And… Well I just wanted to know more. About the circumstances. Because—well—we can all do the math. You said you've been married for ten years but your kids are sixteen. So it probably wasn't 'for the poor children' that you decided to go with it. So I'm just—I'm trying to understand why you would marry him. I know you said it was because you love him, and I get that, but…I'm just looking for the turning point, I guess. Because you had kids with the guy, clearly you loved him long before you agreed to marry him. So why six years later?" Other Tony asked.

"Oh," Tony said. "Well. That's simple. I was dying." Tony started to click back into Extremis when she realized her double was still looking at her.

"I know that feeling," he said.

"You want elaboration, don't you?" she asked a bit flatly.

"I have to admit I'm curious," Other Tony said. 'Curious' was probably an understatement, given with how much desire he looked at her. It was a _burning_ question for him, something he could not resolve.

"Fine. I was dying. Cancer. Brain tumor. It was making me crazy as it was killing me, all right? We knew that would happen. And I didn't want anybody to look at the will, see I'd left almost everything to Steve and the kids, and challenged him because we hadn't been married at the time of my death," Tony explained dispassionately. "It would have been easy to do if we waited too long. Before the end I was hallucinating, forgetting I had children at all—we had a full time nanny for a while, as much as I hated the concept. We couldn't cope, Steve couldn't cope, and we knew he'd need one once I was gone, anyway. It was a safety precaution when I started losing my mind—I would forget I was supposed to be watching them, or forget they existed all together. I would leave the oven on and never remember to go back to do whatever it was I was doing before. If we'd waited until that point Steve would have been challenged left and right over his part in the will. So, I went to him one day, sat him down, and explained to him all the logical reasons why we had to get married. I'm pretty sure I ended that conversation with, 'and well, my wagon's been hitched to yours until the end of my life, anyway, right, so what's the difference?'

"He was so upset. The only times I've ever seen him more upset was when the Winter Soldier first came to town and when the doctor told us I had terminal cancer. He didn't argue with me. He agreed we should get married—though not for him, he wanted to make sure the kids were cared for, and they—or any guardian—wouldn't be able to access their trusts until they turned 21. Steve makes a fine living at his job, but nothing like what they were used to. Anyway. He didn't want it to go that way. He'd been asking me to marry him once a year every year since we found out I was pregnant. I said no the first time because I didn't want to compound mistakes. I said no every subsequent time because I never wanted to disappoint him, and I was so afraid that as soon as we said those magic words, I would.

"We got married in a courthouse. There was no fanfare, no magical moment. The kids were all there, as were Natasha and Bucky as witnesses—the only witnesses. I didn't wear a white dress—I think I was still in my skirt suit for work, actually. There's only one picture—Bucky took it."

"But…you have those wedding pictures. I've _seen_ them, you in the white dress—and you in the suit," Other Tony protested, confused.

"Our second and third weddings, respectively," Tony said, an amused smile tugging up her lips. "We didn't _tell_ anyone we were married after the first. The team knew, but it wasn't a public affair. In my last month, what should have been my last month, I mean, I injected the Extremis virus into my system. It was after I forgot my children existed—again. I couldn't take it anymore. I was sick and dying and so very tired of fighting. I wanted it to end or I wanted my life to end. Either way, I wasn't going to keep going like that. Clearly, it worked out. It could have gone wrong, but I did all my calculations right and I came out of it alive and better than ever. And still quite married to Steve.

"We uh, we went through a rough patch after that. I mean, we'd been in a rough patch for months, with him trying to deal with me dying and _me_ trying to deal with me dying—it just wasn't pleasant. But I came out of it…different. Not in my personality, but Steve wasn't always so chill about the Extremis thing. And then we had an awful day where half a neighborhood and a whole elementary school full of children got wiped off the map because some idiot kids were playing superhero on a reality show… We passed the registration act, but not before a full blown shitstorm between Steve and I. He felt it violated civil liberties, _knew_ it violated civil liberties, and was afraid of what superhuman registration could mean one day. But the alternative was unacceptable to me. We worked it out, but there was a period of time when I thought we wouldn't. We could come to blows over it—literal blows, I knew. We were an inch away from an actual civil war. But you know what I realized, on the day when I thought it was really going to happen, that we were really going to go to _war_ against each other, actual guns-and-powers-involved war, with two superhero factions fighting it out…what I realized was that I was more upset personally by the fact that Steve and I were going to divorce than that we were about to start a war.

"I knew how absurd that was, and how selfish—here we were, about to endanger numerous lives, and I was upset that my relatively new husband and I were certainly getting divorced. So I told him that. I told him how I felt about it, how upset I was over how this was tearing us apart, how I desperately wanted to stop, wanted to agree with him, but that I just couldn't, physically, psychically couldn't. And then it was like some sort of dam broke inside both of us and—all the shit we'd been through didn't matter anymore. Frankly it probably didn't hurt that I'd been dying just months before. It puts a certain light on things. Anyway, we worked our shit out and realized how important marriage was to the _both _of us. I don't think he'd understood, before, what it meant to me, too. So we decided we'd do a proper wedding now that neither of us was dying or on the brink of war. We signed the registration act and did a public wedding—that's the one with us in costume. It was to help us present a united front on the SHRA and get all the superhumans on our side. A bit shameless, really, but then we had a _real_ wedding, white dress and all, with _all_ of our friends there." Tony breathed out and relaxed further into the couch. "Is that enough elaboration for you?" Her double nodded mutely. He wasn't silent for long, though.

"So, it was practicality," he said.

"I won't lie—yes, it was that in part," Tony said. She smiled a bit, thinking about their courthouse wedding. It had been hot and stuffy and the judge was the driest personality on earth. Steve was content, but certainly not as blindingly happy as he would be later, at their third wedding, but Tony could do with content that day. She was too ill to notice the difference, really. Content seemed as close to happy as Steve had been since they found out, no matter how hard he tried for her. "Steve of course thought it was _all_ practicality. But he was wrong. I didn't really like admitting it, even to myself, but I was happy to get married to him. I was happy to spend the rest of my life, even if it was supposed to be very short, with the best man on the planet, and my very best friend. So really, despite all this elaboration you asked me for, my original point still stands: I married him because I love him. So what brought this on, anyway?"

"Nothing," her double murmured. "Nothing at all. Thanks for uh—thanks for the explanation." He got up and left. Tony watched him go. She wished she had more energy to dissect his motives, but she really didn't. She opened up her e-mail again, now further behind than she had been when she started as new messages had poured in. Such was her life.


	40. Strip

It didn't take long for Steve to find Tony even in the crowded hotel bar. His jacket was slung across the back of his chair, his elbows resting on the bar as he apparently contemplated the amber contents of the crystal glass he turned about in his hand. He kicked back the rest of it and then put the glass back on the bar. He gestured for the bar tender to come over and refill it. While Tony waited for his new drink, Steve slid into the empty seat beside him. It took Tony a moment to notice him, but when he did an eyebrow and half of his mouth quirked upwards at the same time.

"Rogers," he said. "I didn't take you for the type to frequent a place like this." Tony was certainly right on that front. The bar was incredibly fancy. Beautiful people in beautiful clothes milled about having conversations about charity funds and galas and 'summering' on Cape Cod. The lights were dimmed low, and the air smelled heavily of expensive perfume and aftershave. Steve was incredibly underdressed in his khakis and brown leather jacket.

"I don't," Steve replied. When the bartender returned with Tony's drink, Steve ordered one of his own. Tony took a sip of his brandy, watching Steve with dark eyes.

"Didn't think you drank, either."

"It doesn't affect me. Doesn't mean I don't drink occasionally," Steve said easily. The bar tender returned with a pint, and Steve took a long swig just to prove his point.

"So, if this isn't your place or your thing—what are you doing here?"

"I'm more interested in what _you_ are doing here," Steve said.

"What, a man has to have a reason to get drunk?" Tony asked.

"No, but he usually has a reason for doing it alone. On a Tuesday," Steve pointed out.

"Touche," Tony replied. He took another sip of the brandy and closed his eyes. "Even in this universe, they keep the good stuff here."

"I'm not about to get distracted by your ramblings," Steve said, half amused even through his concern.

"You want to play confidante? All right I'll play, Cap. I'm here because children _won't_ be. No idea how Antonella stands it all day, but I'm personally losing my mind," Tony said.

"So that's her first name. I'd wondered," Steve mused.

"You didn't hear it from me," Tony said. "And I suggest not using it to her face. She mentioned something about a single man alive allowed to call her that and keep his testicles." Steve laughed.

"Fair enough," he agreed. "But Tony, those kids aren't even there from six-thirty to four. Half the time they're gone longer. You can't take two hours a day in the presence of teenagers from a distance?"

"I don't like children," Tony said stiffly.

"Well that's a load of bull," Steve said, rolling his eyes. Tony looked at him sharply. Steve just raised an eyebrow. "Oh, please, Tony. Does Harley ring any bells?" Tony looked so indignant and mad it was hilarious.

"Who _told you_?" he demanded.

"Who do you think? Pepper," Steve said. "She was telling me a while back about needing to organize Christmas presents—I thought she was a bit crazy, it was September after all—and she was going through a list and mentioned that you'd probably want to get Harley's present together yourself. I asked who he was. She didn't keep him from me."

"Oh," Tony said, looking a bit less furious but still grumpy. He took another sip of his drink. "Good. I was about to kill Bruce for violating patient confidentiality."

"Ok, A) do you realize how absurd 'I was about to kill Bruce' sounds on so many different levels, and B), he's not that kind of doctor," Steve said.

"Doesn't matter," Tony waved him off. "Besides, Harley's not… look, I owe the kid."

"Oh, Pepper told me what he did," Steve assured him. "Sounds to me like you already paid him back—gave him a bunch of cool new toys, updated the garage… You could have been done. Could have washed your hands of him. But you keep answering his e-mails. Sent him a birthday present. Apparently you're sending him something for Christmas too. You've become his…what, patron? Benefactor? Is it so hard to admit you're really a father figure?"

"Christ, Rogers, never say that again," Tony said vehemently, his eyes flashing. Steve was a bit surprised by the violent reaction. "Harley's an exception not a rule."

"Bull, bull, and more bull," Steve disagreed. "You _love_ kids you lying ass. I saw you when that school trip of fifth graders came through Stark Tower."

"I believe their teacher complained to the school district about my language and behavior," Tony said, rolling his eyes.

"Only because you're as candid with kids as you are with everybody else. They loved that. And their eyes just lit up when they had Iron Man teaching them all about science. And so did yours," Steve said.

"Their eyes lit up?" Tony mimicked. "What, are we in a bad romance novel now?"

"You can't hide it from me, Stark," Steve said, grinning behind the top of his pint, "I'm onto you. You love kids. I bet you love puppies and kittens too."

"I don't like dogs and cats are too high maintenance. They make you work for their affection," Tony grumbled.

"I said puppies and kittens, not cats and dogs," Steve clarified. He put his pint down on the bar. "But fine. I'll pretend, for a moment, that you're being completely honest. Even if you don't like kids, they're only around a few hours a day. They don't interact with us when they can help it, unless we invite them to first. So this isn't about dealing with them, is it?"

"Wow, you're a real Sherlock Holmes, Steve Rogers," Tony said dryly.

"It's weird for me too, you know," Steve said. "I mean I think it's weird for all of us—Clint's got kids here too, after all, and so does Bruce. But—I _get it_. It's weird having them around. They're like both of us and it's…"

"Disconcerting," Tony finished.

"Sure," Steve agreed. Tony sighed. He finished his drink and then leaned back more heavily in his chair.

"I'm mostly over that," Tony admitted. "It's more… Antonella is… it's easier to think of her more like a sister than another version of _me_."

"Well, that's understandable," Steve said agreeably. "The sex change must be odd."

"It's not _that_," Tony disagreed. "It's more…if I can look at her like a sister, I don't have to admit she's a more perfect version of me."

"Tony…"

"You can't disagree! I know it's what you think, what everybody thinks. I know everybody on our team is looking at her and thinking _fuck_, why didn't we get _that_ Tony Stark?" Tony said. "And you're _right_. She's further along, tech-wise. She's organized. She doesn't drink. She's responsible. She's got her shit together, she's not a fucking mess. She's _capable_ of—of commitment, of a family—shit, you know, I knew Pepper and I were never going to work out anyway, but you should have _seen_ the way she looked at her double and her kids. And I should've—I don't know, I don't think things would have worked out regardless but I feel like I should have been _more_ for her. Should have been more _capable_ of _considering_ that sort of shit but I'm _not_. I'm just not. She's the better version of me, hands down, and I'm sick of living with that truth every day."

"Tony, is that honestly what you think?" Steve asked in astonishment.

"It's what I _know_," Tony replied. Steve resisted the urge to laugh uproariously.

"Tony—Tony, you've got plenty of flaws, I won't argue," he said, unable to keep a grin from his face. "You're stubborn as shit. You're a pain in my ass in the field. I have to admit to having one or two satisfying fantasies of bashing that smug helmet of yours with my shield. But none of your flaws have anything to do with you not being responsible, or organized, or tech-deficient or a _family man_ or whatever it is that's gotten warped and set on a loop inside that incredibly dense brain of yours." He put a friendly hand on the man's shoulder, but as soon as Tony's eyes met his, he withdrew like he'd been electrified. _Distance_,_ Rogers_, he reminded himself. Things were awkward with them, complicated by their surroundings. No need to make it worse. "I mean to say, Tony—she's not a more perfect version of you. She's just another one. You don't have to prove that to me or anyone else on the team. We value you for who _you_ are."

"I take it back, you don't sound like a cheesy romance novel, you sound like a _Lifetime_ movie," Tony said sarcastically.

"I don't know what a _Lifetime_ movie is but I'm pretty sure I'm insulted," Steve said dryly, but he let it slide. Tony wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type; he only hoped his words had reached his ears, no matter how cheesy they might be. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the background chatter at the bar. A beautiful blonde was complaining to the bartender about her ex, and occasionally casting sultry looks over to Steve. Two businessmen were making deals that did not sound particularly legal. Behind them a woman laughed, over and over again, in a high pitched, drunken giggle that grated on the nerves of everyone in the vicinity.

"Hang on," Tony said, swiveling on Steve, "I'm buzzed so I'm not surprised this didn't occur to me earlier—but _how_ did you find me?"

"I didn't," Steve said. "Your double did. She was looking for your input on something—you weren't picking up your phone, so she called Bruce, figured you'd be at the lab with him, but he said you'd left hours ago—she got concerned, tracked you down. I thought she was going to send someone to fetch you, so I offered to come talk to you and make sure you were all right. What?" Tony had gone stiff as a board. He put his hands in his pants pockets, then took them out. He checked his jacket pockets and removed his wallet. He threw a bunch of bills on the bar—more than enough to cover his drink, Steve's, and the tip.

"Come with me. Now," Tony ordered. Steve was caught so off-guard that he obeyed without a second thought. Tony marched to the hotel's front desk. He held out his credit card. "Give me a room, please. Whatever you've got."

"Of course, sir," the pretty woman at the desk answered, her eyes flicking briefly to Steve. She ran the card, then handed it back along with two electronic key cards. Tony snatched them and moved quickly to the elevator.

They couldn't talk in there—there was a businessman on his blackberry, and a woman who was likely a higher class lady of the night. They waited until they got to the appropriate floor, and then Tony left the elevator. Tony marched purposefully down the hall, and Steve followed.

"Tony, what is this about?" Steve asked, bewildered.

"Shut up," he snapped. He shoved the key card into the door and flung it open when the lock turned green. Steve joined him inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Tony—Tony? What are you doing?" Steve did his best to keep to keep the alarm out of his voice. Tony removed his jacket and was removing his tie. He unbuttoned his shirt.

"Strip," Tony commanded.

Steve felt a few things in that moment that he would later deny to himself that he ever did.

"Wh-what?" Steve asked, unable to stay composed. He could feel the heat rising to his face. Tony's shirt was off. He began undoing the buckle to his pants.

"Strip, Rogers, what is wrong with you?" Tony asked.

"I…" Steve's brain had mostly shut off. Tony took off his pants, but, thankfully, not his boxers. He moved to the pants and started shaking them out. He did the same to the shirt, and then examined the jacket closely. He looked over to Steve.

"Don't tell me you're shy," Tony stated. "_Strip_."

"Tony, what the ever loving _fuck_ are you doing?" Steve asked, his throat a little dry. But obediently, he began to remove his leather jacket.

"Do you have a knife?"

"I'm not Natasha."

"But you _are_ a boy scout—not even a Swiss Army thing?"

"I was never in the boy scouts," Steve said, his hands fumbling over the buttons of his shirt. He'd at least figured out at this point that there was nothing sexual going on. Well, there might have been, but if there was this was the oddest foreplay Steve had ever encountered.

"Fine, fine, it'll just be messy then," Tony grumbled. He grabbed the lining of the jacket and ripped it open, and suddenly things became clear to Steve. He was checking for bugs.

"Tony, don't you think this is overreacting a bit?" Steve asked, pulling off his shirt. "She probably just checked the GPS on your phone."

"That's the thing, Cap," Tony said, combing over bits of the jacket, "I didn't bring my phone with me." He grabbed his wallet and started emptying it. He grabbed the credit card 3490 Tony had issued each of them. He squinted at it. "Could be in here, but I don't think so. I was paying at the bar with cash."

"Tony, we are talking about the woman with the internet in her brain," Steve pointed out. "She could have just tracked you on cameras."

"Do you know how _long_ that would take?" Tony demanded. "She didn't have a timeframe for me leaving the tower except 'hours ago', and even if she checked with JARVIS, she'd still have to find cameras that could follow me on every street all the way to the hotel. It's possible. It's _possible_. But unlikely." He ripped the leather wallet open, checking inside its stitching, its lining. Steve sat down on the bed, still half-dressed. Tony threw the wallet on the floor with force, then ran a hand through his hair.

"No bugs?" Steve asked.

"No," he said. "Which means she's got trackers on us."

"How?"

"How? Same goddamn way you track a fucking _dog_—microchip," Tony said.

"I don't recall anyone sticking a hypo in my neck," Steve said steadily. He was afraid he was about to talk Tony down from a cliff of panic. Tony paced the room quickly, looking deep in thought and deeply disturbed.

"She wouldn't have to," Tony said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Her—Extremis, the thing that computerized her brain? She mentioned it was like a virus. If she has tech that goes down to the cellular level… Goddamn, she wouldn't have to do anything more than _feed_ it to us and voila. Nanotech in our bloodstreams." Steve felt himself go very still at that. His stomach turned.

"Do you—do you think she'd do that? Would you?"

"Under the right circumstances? I don't know, maybe," Tony said, shaking his head. He took a seat on the bed as well, looking distraught. "Fuck, Steve. We can't run. Even if we could plan it, even if we had the means—there's no escape."

"Easy," Steve said. "Take it easy, Tony. We don't even know if there's a reason we need to run yet."

"Doesn't this prove it?" Tony demanded. "Doesn't this _prove_ we _have_ to run, even as it proves we _can't_?"

"Tony, think it through. We don't _know_. Not for certain," Steve said, doing his best to think rationally.

"Fuck," Tony said.

For a minute they sat in silence, before Steve became hyper aware of his cold, bare chest. He grabbed his own shirt and started to put it back on. Tony was still lost in thought, so Steve grabbed Tony's pants and held them out to him. Tony looked up at him, startled.

"I just—uh—it's obviously not our clothes that are the problem, so," he said. Tony nodded mutely, and they dressed in silence. Finally, once Tony had finished gathering up the scattered contents of his wallet, Steve remarked, "You know, I thought you'd finally cracked when you started taking off your tie and ordered me to strip."

"Why?" Tony asked, puzzled. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"You might forget I'm not a mind reader," he said, "but think, for a moment, how, out of context, that might have sounded." It took Tony a moment, but after a second, it finally dawned on him and he grinned.

"Wait, wait—you had no idea what I was going on about and you came up here anyway?"

"…Yes? It seemed urgent."

"You started _stripping_ and you didn't know what I wanted? Never figured you'd have a power fetish, Rogers," Tony said, highly amused.

"Now _wait just a minute_," Steve said hotly, blushing a bit, "I _knew_ there was something up by the time I was taking off my jacket."

"Mm, was there?" Tony asked lewdly.

"You're impossible. You're worse than your double," Steve said, rolling his eyes and opening the hotel door.

"I keep telling you."


	41. Not a Bot

Kate looked down at the page in her hands, the white, thick stock paper imprinted with the crest of Hawthorn Academy.

**Katherine E. Bishop**

_French 4A _

_AP Lit/Comp A-_

_German 3 B+_

_Pre-Calculus C_

_AP US HistoryC-_

_AP BiologyA-_

_OrchestraB-_

Kate still couldn't contain a wince whenever she looked at the page. She was so used to seeing As straight down the page, and here she was, in her penultimate year, and she was getting the worst grades she had ever gotten. She considered, briefly, photoshopping a new report card (that would be easy) and sneaking into the office to stamp it with the seal (harder, but certainly not impossible). But no, there wasn't time for that. Her parents _knew _today was report card day. They would ask about it. And Kate wouldn't put it past her mother to double check with the school about her grades, either, considering the past month, which meant that if she wanted to really keep it hidden, she'd have to hack the school's system and change her grades… She knew _how_ to do that, of course, but, something unpleasant stirred in her stomach at the thought. It was one thing, lying to her parents about her grades. It was another thing entirely to actually change her grades to something she didn't earn. There was a knock on her door and Kate felt her whole body tense.

"Come in," Kate called out. Her mother opened the door.

"So, you know what I'm here for," she said. "Is that it?" Kate just nodded and handed it over as her mother entered the room. She took it, took one look, and raised an eyebrow.

"So, this is you proving to me that you're really responsible?" her mother asked.

"I had a rough six weeks," Kate muttered. "Not being _able_ to do anything with anybody didn't help."

"Oh, so this is on me?" her mother demanded. "I don't think so." She handed the report card back. "Anything that's not an 'A' I want to see improved at least a letter grade before I even _consider_ lifting your punishment." Kate looked up sharply at that.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "You said—you said I was grounded for a month—I'm supposed to be done next week!"

"You're done when I say you're done," her mother said, crossing her arms. "And this report card does not reflect the responsible young adult you want me to think you are. You've already gone back to training with Clint and Francis and the Academy. You can have French Club back, but you are _banned_ from your friends from school until you can pull your grades up, capisci?"

"_Capisco_," Kate replied with bite. She rolled her eyes and reached for her tablet, hoping to end the conversation.

"You're not winning any favors with your attitude, Kate," her mother pointed out. Kate slammed her tablet down on her bed.

"Yeah, I get that," she snarled. "And _you're_ not winning any points with me, extending my grounding like this."

"I'm not interested in winning points with you, Katherine. I'm your mother. That's not my job. My job is to raise you drug and alcohol free with hopefully enough skills to succeed in the world," her mother stated coolly.

"Yeah, great job so far," Kate said sarcastically, picking her tablet up again and opening a book before it was yanked out of her hands. "Hey!"

"You don't get the luxury of ignoring me," her mother said. "You're taking _drugs_. You're sneaking out and partying—"

"Not so much considering JARVIS is tracking my every move—"

"—And now your grades are slipping and I want to know _why_," her mother said. For a moment, Kate caught a glimpse of something on her mother's face that _wasn't_ cool detachment. It was worry or concern. Or maybe that was just Kate's wishful thinking—it was gone in a moment anyway, replaced by a hard expression. Kate crossed her arms.

"Ever heard the phrase, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink? Well, you can stand here all day mother, but I don't have to talk to you. So why don't you stop wasting both of our time and just go back to work or whatever it was you were doing before you decided to invade my personal space," Kate said. Fury darkened her mother's face, but Kate was not cowed.

"I did you a favor, not telling your father what you were really up to. How do you think he'd react if I told him right now? You think a couple of months of being grounded is the worst thing ever? I'm pretty sure he'd change your mind quickly on that subject," she said.

"Maybe," Kate said, "but that doesn't matter. Because you won't tell him. Because then you'd have to tell him that you _didn't_ tell him in the first place. You'd have to tell him you lied. Try again with the threats, Mom. Those worked out really well with _your_ dad, didn't they?" Kate regretted the words as soon as they had left her mouth. All the color and the fight drained from her mother's face. Her arms uncrossed to rest helplessly at her sides, and suddenly Kate remembered that there were, indeed, chinks in her mother's armor. Her mother moved and sat down next to her on her bed.

"I never asked to be a mother, Kate. And I have never been very good at it, I know that. But I'm what you've got. And believe it or not, I am _trying_ to help you, Kate," her mother said quietly.

"I'm not one of your bots, Mom," Kate replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't be perfect all the time." Her mother pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

"Oh, Katie," she said with a sigh. "I never meant to say you had to."

_But you did_, Kate wanted to say. But instead she stayed silent.


	42. Suck

Tony had decided to take up the issue of Kate's slipping grades, so it was left to Steve to figure out what Peter was up to. Peter's grades were impeccable—in everything except for history, which was a solid C+. Steve found Peter playing Other Clint on the Xbox in the living room, with Other Tony sitting in an armchair and working on a tablet and Other Steve watching the game intently. Other Clint was wooping and howling and Peter occasionally shouted an obscenity, which made Steve frown in disapproval. It struck him, sometimes, how different Clint was from the other universe. He took up games more readily, gambled harder, and overall was just a _touch_ less mature in some ways. And yet, he was also darker somehow. He was masking something painful, that much was obvious, and he masked it quite successfully. But perhaps not as successfully as he thought. Steve ruffled Peter's hair.

"Not now, Dad, I'm about to beat this guy's butt," Peter said.

"So I see," Steve said. "Have you done your history essay yet? You know, the one you were complaining about three days ago? The one that's due tomorrow?"

"Mmmph," Peter said. Steve rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to need a verbal on that one, soldier," he said.

"Nooo," Peter replied. "But it'll get done—sonofabitch! You passed me! How the hell did you pass me? You were like three miles behind me!"

"Shortcut," Other Clint replied gleefully just as Steve admonished,

"_Language,_ Peter." Clint crossed the finish line first and pumped his controller in the air. Peter groaned.

"You have got to be shitting me—"

"_Language_, young man. You need to go do your essay, Pete, I saw your report card. You've got a C+ in that class right now, you can't afford to procrastinate. Go finish your essay," Steve said.

"But I don't _want_ to," Peter whined. "One more game. C'mon Dad, one more game, I have to beat this loser."

"No, go do your homework _now_ Peter. The sooner you finish it, the sooner you can play video games," Steve pointed out. Peter just rolled his eyes.

"But then the point of playing video games—avoiding homework—is gone," Peter said.

"Is this the face of a man who cares?" Steve asked, pointing to his own face. Peter scowled.

"No."

"Right, there's your answer. Go do your homework," Steve insisted. Peter put down the controller and got up off the couch.

"Ugh, you suck," he said, heading in the direction of his room.

"Very well in fact I've been told," Steve called after him. Peter shrieked and clapped his hands over his ears. The deep blush on Steve's 199999 counterpart did not escape his notice, either, nor did the raised eyebrows of 199999 Tony as he determinedly stared at his tablet.

"OH GOD EARS BLEEDING," Peter yelled, running away.

"You asked for it!" Steve shouted after him. Other Clint laughed his ass off, and Steve took his son's place on the couch. "How about a round?"

"Did you just kick him off so you can play?" Other Clint asked, amused.

"I don't know what you're talking about. He has an essay due tomorrow. I don't have an essay due tomorrow," Steve said, aloof. "Start her up."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"Commander."

"Kinky."

"Shut up and press start, Barton."


	43. In Our Defense

They were in central park. Steve had no doubt they had been followed, or were being tracked, or both. Probably both. Steve knew Hawkeye was keeping an eye out, trying to see if they could spot their tail.

"Yeah, I found him," Clint said as they walked through the park. "It's me again. I don't know where he went just now but a second ago he was buying a hot dog from that stand over there."

"Guess we're not much of a threat if he can eat on the job," Tony mused.

"He's just trying to look like another tourist," Clint disagreed. "Hiding in plain sight is usually the easiest way to do it." Steve realized just then that he was, in fact, leading the whole group, the one out in front as they walked. He figured he might as well take advantage of it—he moved off the sidewalk as he found a sunny, quiet spot. Pepper unfurled the blanket they'd brought, laying it out on the ground, and Jane started unpacking the picnic basket as they all sat down. It was unseasonably warm and sunny for November, which was why they'd chosen a picnic—outside they could be certain there would be no bugs or cameras, except those which 3490 might have planted on them.

"So what was so important that you had to organize this trip away from the mansion?" Natasha asked.

"Last week Steve and I made a startling discovery," Tony said as casually as he could, taking a coke from Pepper as she and Thor handed them out. He popped the lid. "Aside from the fact that Rogers here has a thing for being ordered around—"

"_Tony_, I do _not—_"

"—my double may have dosed us all with microscopic robots," Tony finished, ignoring Steve's protests. There was silence among the group for a moment. Pepper had frozen still holding a sandwich out to Jane.

"Would you care to repeat that?" Bruce asked, a little too calmly.

"Extremis, that's the computer in her head, right? She mentioned it operates like a virus—Jane take the sandwich, look _natural_—so my double clearly has tech that works at a microscopic level. Well. I went out to a bar. I guess she got worried and decided to look me up and check in—thing of it is, I didn't have my phone on me. I checked my clothes—nothing. I slit open the credit card she gave me, but there was no unusual tech inside and I hadn't swiped it once that evening. So either she managed to track my movements through a ridiculous number of cameras across several hours' timeframe in a matter of seconds, or she's got trackers inside of us, and fuck knows what else," Tony said. He took a chicken salad sandwich and bit into it. Steve sipped at his sprite. The others followed suit fairly well, keeping up their picnic cover despite the situation.

"What _else_ could she do?" Jane asked.

"Her tech is integrated with her _brain_, with her biology," Tony said, shaking his head. "I don't think I _want_ to know what it's capable of doing to us. For all I know mind control isn't off the table here."

"Then we must defeat them in battle," Thor insisted, "before they best us with their trickery."

"I'm not sure we _can_, big guy," Tony said. "That's what I'm getting at. We can't run—they're tracking us. We can't fight them—even if our team wasn't _hilariously_ outclassed, which it is, or incredibly smaller in number—which it is—there's no telling what my double's tech could do. She could turn us against each other."

"Doesn't—doesn't mind control seem a little far fetched?" Pepper asked, looking ill.

"Doesn't a woman with wi-fi in her brain seem a little far fetched?" Tony asked. "If she can turn her mind into a PC there's no telling what she can do to ours."

"Tony and I were thinking there's only one way out of this," Steve said. "We've got to work on a portal home."

"We _can't_. We can't go home, we'd risk ripping the whole multiverse apart!" Jane protested.

"That's what they _told_ us," Tony said. "But they've told us a lot of things."

"Well they're not lying on that one," Jane said. "I've been running the specs on my own. Their Doctor Richards gave me his numbers and they're _solid_. He's not making this up. I've been doing _extensive_ research on the Einstein-Rosenberg bridge from Earth to Asgard and it's similar work. I'm telling you, if we move through the universes again while it's still unstable we risk shattering them all." Steve's stomach twisted with unease. They really _were_ trapped.

"Even so," Steve said slowly, "we should get working on a machine that could transport us home. But we can't do it in either of the labs—there's no telling what 3490's reaction would be if they discovered us making a portal home. Jane, Bruce, Tony—take what equipment from the labs that you can. We'll need to find a location to work on it that won't seem suspicious, somewhere you can disappear to for a couple of hours every now and again."

"What, and we're just supposed to build this alone? Do you have any idea the amount of work that would go into that kind of project? It could take _years_," Jane said, sounding more and more upset. Thor put a soothing hand to her back.

"Unless we have help," Tony said. He didn't look happy either.

"Help from _who_? Who can we trust here who has the knowledge we would need?" Jane demanded.

"The kid," Tony said gruffly. "Peter. He's too smart for his own good."

"And isolated. And seems to trust you," Steve said, nodding. "That could work. Think you can get him to help you without him really _knowing_ what he's doing?" Tony nodded stiffly. "Good. Then we all have our orders. Tasha, Clint, you and I are going to scope out locations where those three and the kid can work without raising too many suspicions. There's one other thing we need to discuss, though. I think we should be helping out 3490 in battle."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"I would like to know that as well," Natasha said. "That could be a dangerous strategy, allowing them to see our skills, the way we work together."

"I think we've all seen how overworked they are, even with the size of their team. I think we could go a long way in earning their trust if we could help them out every now and again," Steve said. "We don't have to show them everything. We can make non-life-threatening mistakes when we see the opportunity."

"So we would join them? Join the 3490 Avengers?" Tony asked, incredulous.

"Your double said we'd be appreciated," Steve pointed out. "When we first got here. She said we could take this as a vacation, or we could lend a hand. I think it might be wiser to lend a hand than to sit around and wait for them to make a move. Besides, if we offer to help out they might equip us—none of us have any real weapons."

"I stole a bow for Clint a long time ago. I have almost all of my usual equipment," Natasha said, just to be contrary.

"Fine. _I_ don't have my shield, and Tony doesn't have a suit, which puts us down two team members," Steve said. "Even if we can't really fight them, having the ability to at least _defend_ ourselves, if not from them then from others, is a good strategy." There was silence for a moment as they all considered.

"You're the tactician, Cap," Clint eventually said. Tony and Thor just nodded their consent. Natasha pursed her lips but didn't argue.

"I think I might need to stay out of it," Bruce said quietly. "If the other guy gets out I won't be able to control what he might do against 3490. It could compromise the mission." Steve nodded.

"If you think it's best," he said. "Are we agreed? Jane, Pepper, are you ok with this?"

"Whatever will get us home in one piece," Pepper said.

"You all do what you have to, and I'll help get that bridge constructed," Jane agreed.

"It's settled, then," Steve said, looking out at the team, their picnic half-forgotten. "I'll speak with 3490 Tony and Steve tomorrow."


	44. Chat

"What's the situation, Barton?" Tony asked. She had her best pair of eyes patched in through a secure channel as she sat in her office, reading through various classified documents, trying to piece together a mystery. There had been worrying energy spikes all along the eastern seaboard since before the alternate avengers arrived. They _still_ didn't know the cause, or how to predict them. Two weeks ago the spike had been bad enough that ten people were hospitalized with radiation poisoning, and two died. There were no bombs, no explosion just silent death swooping down and taking whomever it willed. Barton frowned at her from the video screen.

"You told me not to get too close. My double spotted me—damn bastard. You need to send Natasha on these ops," Barton said, sounding agitated.

"Widow's in Albania, you know that," Tony said tersely, flicking through the papers. "Get to the point, Hawkeye."

"If you're not facing me _I can't hear you_, Stark," Clint snapped. Tony faced the tablet and the camera once more.

"I'm sorry," Tony said, adding in the signs for the words. "I'm distracted. Natasha's in Albania with Bucky, I can't send her. What's the situation with the alts?"

"You told me not to get too close, and then my double _spotted_ me. I was keeping my distance. I ended up too far away to read their lips. If I'd gotten in any closer they would have known what I was doing. They're _suspicious_, Stark. Way more suspicious than you've been giving them credit for," Barton said. "I think it's their Natasha—she's sharp. She covered her mouth first at their dinner a couple weeks ago."

"It's not the first time she's caused us a bit of trouble," Tony said. She drummed her fingers on her desk. "Watch her. I want a full report and then your professional opinion on what should be done with her."

"…Tony?"

"We _cannot_ have a rogue Widow," Tony said, putting steel into her voice. "You know that as well as I do—_better_ than I do. If we have to drug her and stick her in a prison until the end of their stay, so be it. You tell me what needs to be done and we'll do it."

"I don't think it's _just_ her, Tony. They're planning something. I just don't know what," Clint said.

"Then you _find out_," Tony said. "And you come to me or Steve when you do."

"Understood," Clint said. His voice sounded hollow. Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you're going soft on me now, Barton," she said.

"I'll get it done, Stark," Clint said with a scowl, and then the feed cut out.

Tony ran a hand through her hair. She felt like she had aged a hundred years in just this past one. If it weren't for the fact that she was terrified by the idea of anyone else in her position, she would have quit on the second day. _They're planning something_. 525 had been planning something too. They all knew how that had ended. She hoped this time it wouldn't come to that.


	45. Oops

As Peter hung from the hoop, shattered glass scattered across the floor beneath him and every student in the gym _staring_ at him with wide eyes, Peter could only think one thing: _I am so dead_.


	46. Backboard

James Rogers knew that whenever anybody sneered at him that he had 'daddy issues', they meant it as an insult, but honestly he was the first one to admit it. He and his father didn't get along. James had issues with that. It affected him. He'd still sock anybody on the jaw who said he had 'daddy issues', but he didn't mind admitting to _himself_ that it was true. So every time he walked into Tony's mansion, he tensed a little, waiting for everything to go sour. It always did. He wasn't free of blame, and he knew that. Sometimes when he got mad at his father, it was unjustified. But _most_ of the time there was a good reason.

So as James put his hand to the handle of the door and walked into the mansion for the third time in four weeks—a record, James figured, since summers in high school—he felt himself stiffen, felt a knot in his gut forming. He wasn't even here to see _him_, but James knew that inevitably he would bump into him. Despite the fact that Tony and his dad worked constantly, it was always James' bad luck that they were around when he didn't want them to be. He pushed open the door and entered the mansion.

It wasn't quiet. It was rarely quiet anymore. He knew Kate and Peter were probably still on their way back from school, so the noise came from the Alternates. James' mouth curved down in distaste. He didn't know why Tony or his dad had invited them into their _home,_ but he thought it was a monumentally bad decision. James could hear a video game—_Call of Duty_, perhaps—playing in the background, and Alt Clint swearing up a storm. There was a blender going in the kitchen—or maybe a mixer, or a food processor, James wasn't entirely sure. With all the noise, James managed to slip through the hallways unnoticed, and make his way upstairs to his bedroom.

James' bedroom was, all told, fairly plain. He hadn't decorated it with any posters. He didn't have any pictures tacked to the cork board Tony had put up in the corner when he turned fourteen. The only really personal items he had in the room were on the bookshelves. The books that he had read as a kid lined the shelves, and in front of them were action figures and army men, plastic dinosaurs and little spaceships—remnants from his childhood. He had larger collections at home in California. His eyes came to rest on a little wooden box in the corner, next to a very old Captain America comic. He reached out and took it. He blew a thick layer of dust off the top and ran a hand over it, feeling the smooth wood beneath his fingers. He hadn't come here for this. He had come to the mansion because Tony said she had something she wanted him to test in the lab—a puzzling request, but James was not about to say no to his formidable stepmother. James traced a finger over the latch on the box. He hadn't come here for this, but something had drawn him straight upstairs instead of down to Tony's lab. He took a seat on his bed.

He didn't know if he wanted to open it and take what he knew was inside. He had put it in a box for a reason, shoved it in a corner for a reason. But now he would be headed off to war. Maybe it was time to put some of the past behind him, to confront it and to move on. He took a breath and opened the box. He reached inside and pulled out the metal chain. The dog tags on the end clinked together.

It still amazed him sometimes, how old the tags were. How old his _father_ was. Everything that he had lived through with these little bits of metal stuck around his neck was often unfathomable to James. He understood his father very well—too well, really. He had understood his father's thoughts and motives and feelings far too well at far too young an age to be able to cope with it. James knew that. He wasn't sure his father really did. But for all that James understood him, sometimes it hit James how little he _knew_ him.

He had given James those tags when he was six, his first year entering St. Catherine's Military Academy. His dad had gotten down on one knee so they could be at eye level, and he'd handed him the tags, telling him they'd bring him good luck, telling him that _he_ would always be with him in spirit and this was a reminder. James had been thrilled with the present. He'd worn his father's tags for months under his clothes until his mother, worried that he would lose them, insisted he keep them at home for safe keeping. She had bought him the little wooden box to keep them in, and they had occupied a prominent place on his shelf for years. He used to keep the top open and grab them whenever he missed his dad, just keeping them in his hand. James knew every groove and divot on those tags. When he moved to New York, he brought the tags with him, but he'd long since stopped opening the box. He kept it on the shelf, out of the way. That was how he dealt with his issues with his father. He kept them out of the way so he could get about his daily life. Coming back to the mansion always meant confronting them again.

James thought briefly about bringing the little box with him. Perhaps Dad had been right, perhaps they still had a little luck left in them—after all, they'd come with him out of the ice after being frozen for forty-five years. But no—he wouldn't want to lose them. Nor would he want to, even for a second, be mistaken for his father on the battlefield. He put the tags back in the box, shut the lid and did up the latch. He returned it to its place on the shelf. He opened the drawer in his desk and took out the zip drive that had been his real purpose for coming upstairs, pocketed it, and headed back down towards the lab.

Downstairs was still loud. The mixer (or blender or food processor) was still going. Alt Clint still swore at the screen over the sounds of machine gun fire. Yet now there was a new voice—Dad.

"I don't care about the _backboard_, Peter," he heard his Dad say. James, despite the fact that he knew he should just keep walking away, towards the lab, gravitated toward the sound. It was a tone he recognized all too well—one that he had never heard his father use with _Peter_. "Is it _true_?"

"What?" James heard his brother's response.

"What I heard in that office. Did you or did you not humiliate that boy?" Dad asked. James stepped closer, and peeked around the corner. He could see his little brother shifting his weight around and nodding a bit.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did, but—"

"But _what_?"

"This guy _deserved_ it," Peter said earnestly. James knew at once, even out of context, that Peter must be talking about Stash or Bash or Flash or whatever his name was—the asshole who had been picking on Peter since middle school and probably before. But no matter his reason, James felt tense for his little brother—he knew what was coming. He'd been on the receiving end of it before.

"Did he?" Dad demanded. "Is he the kid that hit you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, but—"

"So all this is about getting even?" Dad asked rhetorically. "If so, I guess you must feel pretty good about yourself right now, am I right? Am I right or wrong, Peter?" James could see his little brother avoiding eye contact, and looking all together annoyed that they were having this discussion. He shook his head, but it was less in the manner of 'no' and more in the manner of 'you don't get it'. James knew. He'd been there. And it was the wrong answer.

"Yeah, thought so," Dad said, steely toned. "So the minute you've got the _opportunity_ to abuse these new found powers, you did."

_New found powers_? James wondered about that. Had his brother finally come into the world of superhumans, manifesting latent super genes? It seemed so unlikely—but then, what did James really know about genetics.

"But he _deserved_ it," Peter insisted again. "It's not like I _decked_ him."

"That's not the _point_, Peter!" Dad said. "Emotional bullying is no _less worse_ than physical bullying, you understand? I _understand_ he was an asshole to you. I _get_ that. But this is _not_ what you use your powers for."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to let him kick my ass every day? I'm not allowed to stand up and say _enough_? How many fights did _you_ get in at school, Dad?" Peter demanded.

"This wasn't you standing up and saying no, this was you taking the opportunity to show off and be an ass right back," Dad said. His tone hadn't changed. There was still all that anger burning just beneath the surface—he was _furious_ with Peter, James knew. "You wanted to go to Avengers Academy so badly? Fine. You start on Monday, and maybe there you'll learn some things about using those powers of yours."

"Dad…" Peter said, trailing off. He did sound a bit guilty now.

"I thought I raised you better than this, Peter," Dad said. He sounded tired now—it was another tone James knew all too well. "I'm disappointed."

At those words, something inside James snapped. He went from listening with sympathy for his brother to suddenly feeling an uncontrollable rage at his father. How many times had he heard those exact words? How many times in his life had his father told him he was _disappointed_ in him? How many times had James received the message that he was a disappointment? He didn't know, because it was too many times to count. The words had long lost their potency for James, even if they forever held a sting—but to Peter, James knew, the words would be a horrible slap. Peter was the _model_ child. Peter was always good. There had never been a question of raising him right, never a question of him disappointing his parents. To Peter, the words would be a punch to his gut. And _nobody_ punched his dorky, sensitive little brother on James' watch. Especially not their father. James rounded the corner, barreling onto the scene. His hands were jammed in his pockets and he did his best to keep his expression casual even as he felt the fury rising.

"Hey, maybe you could ease up a little there, Dad," James said. "Kid's had his ass kicked every day at school as long as I can remember. A little revenge is a natural reaction, don't you think? I mean hell, what's your damn _team name_? _Avengers_ isn't it? Vengeance is the central theme."

"That's not the central idea behind the Avengers and you know it," Dad said sternly. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, being your offspring, occasionally I stop by," James said. At his father's skeptical look, he shrugged. "Tony asked me over. Something in the lab she wants me to try. Probably military related, I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," his father said. He sounded upset. James couldn't bring himself to care. He was too angry. His father sighed, returning his attention to Peter. "Just go to your room, Peter, we're done here." Peter, with one curious glance at James, headed down the hall and up the stairs without a word.

"He didn't hurt anybody," James said. "I heard you talking. Nobody got hurt. Maybe some kid got his massive ego bruised. Was it right of Peter? Maybe not. But you can't punch somebody over and over again and not expect a little backlash someday. You want to talk about consequences? I think that other kid just learned a lesson in them."

"That isn't the point, James. There are other ways of dealing with your problems that don't involve violence or humiliation," Steve said.

"Forgive me if I find that statement incredibly ironic given your entire career _revolves_ around violence," James said dryly. "Never really took you for a pacifist."

"There's a difference between using violent tactics for what's right and using them for personal gain," his father said, and James could hear the steel returning to his voice. Suddenly, James knew, _he_ was in trouble, the subject of his father's ire. As usual. Well, James figured, at least he'd spared Peter from any additional attention.

"I don't disagree," James said as amicably as he could, "but I think you also need to recognize that there's a difference between personal gain and what Peter did. Was it petty? Yeah, probably, I don't know what happened. Was it the worst thing ever? Does it indicate a problem with Peter, fundamentally, and his personality? No." His father frowned.

"I never said—"

"Because you didn't have to. You've never _had_ to," James spat. And suddenly they both knew that they weren't talking about Peter anymore. Courage having finally fled from him, James decided to follow that instinct. "Whatever. Just a piece of advice. I'm going to go find Tony." James turned back the other way.

"James," his father called after him, but James never stopped walking.


	47. Funny You Should Ask That

Tony had felt strangely…_off_ for the past week. She hadn't been able to quite put her finger on it, but she hadn't felt exactly herself. At first, she thought that the stress of being Director was finally getting to her, or that Peter's new powers or Kate's problems were finally driving her over the edge—but that really wasn't it. It was more of a _physical_ off. She had tried to shrug it off, but the odd feeling persisted. She continued to be baffled by it—Extremis kept her in prime condition, after all—until Aunt Flo refused to visit.

Tony figured it was stress. Malnutrition. Something. _Anything_ other than the obvious. She had an _IUD_ for God's sake. But Tony was a scientist. She wasn't about to leave any question that could be solved by simple testing up in the air even if she was scared out of her mind of the answer, which was how she came to be standing in her and Steve's bathroom, holding a stick with a little digital read-out of a plus sign. Of course, no single experiment was ever scientifically sound—tests had to be repeated and the results repeated for an accurate conclusion to be drawn, which was why other than the stick in her hand, there were six other tests, all different brands but all with the same result, in the trash. Who knew Other Clint was a fucking clairvoyant.

Of course, there were reasons why the test might be wrong, Tony reasoned. She was a scientist, after all. False positives could happen, even multiple times in a row, if certain conditions were met. They were only testing for elevated levels of the hCG hormone in the system. Certain rare diseases could cause those same elevated levels, though Tony was fairly certain that Extremis had wiped out any chance of her getting a disease. She could have choriocarcinoma, potentially. And Tony, in that moment, staring down at the seventh little plus sign, could not decide which would be worse if she had cancer again or if she were pregnant again.

Ok. Fine. That was probably a little extreme. She was getting hyperbolic. She took a deep breath and threw the last stick in the trash with the others. She would take it out before Steve got home. She didn't know how to tell him, or _what_ to tell him, but she knew she didn't want him to find out from a myriad of positive tests in the trash.

Telling Steve _was_ going to be a trick. Tony bit the inside of her lip. She didn't know what she wanted to do about that just yet. Now really wasn't a good time, what with everything happening with Peter, the Alts constantly around, Kate acting out and getting bad grades, James about to ship off overseas…No, now was the worst time, but she had no idea when a better time was going to come along, and she couldn't exactly just hand him a baby one day. _By the way sweetheart, I was pregnant, this is yours_. Nope, that was not going to fly even in a world where she showed no outward signs of pregnancy (which was indeed not this one).

It had been relatively easy the last time. She was thirty, pregnant with her boyfriend's child (children), and terrified out of her fucking mind. They had only been officially dating for nine months, and she'd gone and fucked it all up. He had only gotten divorced two years earlier, and he already had a kid—one he was suing for full custody of. It was a sticky enough situation without Tony throwing a wrench in the works. She'd sunk to the bathroom floor and collapsed into tears, and that was where he'd found her fifteen minutes later, still clutching the test. It hadn't been a great way for him to find out, but it had been _easy_ because she didn't have to pick a time or find a good moment or agonize over what to say and how exactly to put this. _You've been married for ten years you dummy_, her mind screamed at her. _You've been together for eighteen. Just spit it out when he gets home_.

She would have to soon, after all. She was only about five weeks along, but eventually she was going to have to stop taking missions. Actually, he would probably insist she stop taking missions immediately; he'd done the same the last time. Of course, he couldn't order her to stay out of things—she was director of SHIELD after all, and beyond that her own person—but she hated fighting with him about things like that. It left her exhausted and angry and lonely and guilty and just about every bad feeling she could think of.

Tony groaned in annoyance and, almost without thinking about it, put a hand to her stomach. She didn't understand how this had happened. Well, yes she did. She was a scientist—she understood that nothing was ever 100%. She just couldn't believe her rotten luck. She should have gotten her tubes tied, she thought mournfully. But after Peter and Kate had been born the doctors got all squirrelly on her—they didn't like performing the procedure on women under the age of thirty-five, and she had heart problems as evidenced by the shiny metal object lodged in the center of her chest. Yet ironically, they'd had the same concern with her carrying to term. After she passed the threshold age of thirty-five, and then after she'd undergone the Extremis transformation, effectively destroying the original concerns, she just hadn't thought to ask about the procedure again. It hadn't been an issue—her birth control was working fine. She didn't have to remember to take a pill, and it was non-invasive. It seemed like a win-win. Until this very moment.

It wasn't that she didn't _like_ kids. She did fine with kids. She'd stumbled her way through Peter and Kate's childhoods, having had Jamie occasionally to practice on. She wasn't a great mother, but she did ok. She loved her children, and Steve made up for her failings more often than not. But Peter had clearly been having problems at school that she had never noticed. Kate was having difficulties of her own that Tony didn't understand. She wasn't doing so great in the homestretch in raising teenagers to adults. She highly doubted she would do any better in a second round.

She started tying up the ends of the trash, deciding she ought to take it out at that moment. She was going to just walk right up to Steve when he got home and tell him what was going on. That was the best way of doing things. She just had to get the words right. Tony frowned as she walked through the house, trash bag in hand. What _was_ the right thing to say? _Hey lover, I know I'm over forty and should probably be going through menopause right around now, never mind the whole IUD thing that should have taken care of this, but we're going to have another baby just as we thought we were going to be empty-nesters; surprise!_

Fuck.

How _was_ she even pregnant at forty-six? Tony guessed it must have to do with Extremis. It was keeping her body too well conditioned, maybe even slowing the effects of aging. She was going to have to look into that. But what did being pregnant with Extremis even mean? She'd been a regular human when she had Peter and Kate, no extra virus in her system. Would it infect the baby through her bloodstream? Oh, god—were they going to have a kid born with the internet in its head? That could control local electronics and accidentally turn things on or off every time it had a crying fit? A temper tantrum? Tony didn't even realize she'd stopped walking in the middle of the hallway until Other Clint walked by, an eyebrow raised.

"You forget the way to the garage?" he asked.

"No," Tony said, feeling sick in a way that she knew had nothing to physically do with the pregnancy. "Just, uh, distracted. Checking e-mails." She gave him an insincere but charming smile. "Much more interesting than boring, everyday tasks." His funny look didn't cease, but he kept walking anyway. Tony forced her legs forward. She wondered if there were any tests she would be able to perform to figure out if the baby was going to be born with her Extremis enhancements or not. She hoped to _God_ not. A kid like that would be… she hated to think it but she had to: _dangerous_. She had no idea how having a computer for a brain would affect a baby's cognitive development, but it didn't spell good things. She felt panic rising in her chest. She might have to terminate this pregnancy. Now telling Steve was going to be about ten times more difficult. She knew he would support her decision, that wasn't in question—but the mental stress of a pregnancy and an abortion was no small thing. She threw the trash bag in the garbage can in the garage and then walked back into the house, trying to take deep breaths and avoid an attack.

"Hey, Tony, I was hoping I could talk to you and Steve tonight," Other Steve appeared in the hall, and Tony could not have been more grateful for his presence. He would be a perfect distraction.

"Oh? What about? Is everything ok?" Tony asked. She didn't know if she could handle it if the other 'verse was having problems they expected her to solve, too.

"Fine, fine," he reassured her. "I just…the team…we've been talking, and—" Other Steve said, but at that moment Tony's husband walked in through the garage door. Tony felt her heart leap into her throat. She couldn't tell him. Not with his double standing right there. After. _After_.

"Steve!" she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "Perfect timing. The Captain here wanted to speak to the both of us. Have you got some time?"

"Of course," he said, smiling warmly at the both of them. He looked tired. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her head."What is it, Steve?"

Tony probably should have been paying more attention as Other Steve launched into his speech, but all she could think about were her husband's hands resting lightly on her stomach.


	48. Aliens Really Like NYC

"We _could_ use the extra help," female Tony said slowly, sounding almost reluctant. She glanced at her husband, asking some silent question. Steve was at first surprised by her reluctance, and then suspicious. When they had first arrived, their doubles had seemed very welcoming and very willing to accommodate them, happy to have them help out in whatever way they were comfortable with. Now, however, it was becoming increasingly obvious that _options_ were just for show. Their doubles would present them with a choice, confident that they would make the choice 3490 preferred, and then get a bit thrown when they didn't, trying to move them subtly back on the track 3490 wanted them to take. This, apparently, was one of those false choices. Steve wanted to let them know that team wanted to help out, as Avengers, which had initially been presented as an option—now it seemed less so.

"But you aren't exactly familiar with our team yet, or how we operate. We have code words you won't know, protocols you don't have, styles of fighting unfamiliar to you…why don't we get you all started with some basic training first, and _then _we send you out in the field?" Commander Rogers said smoothly, providing the logical explanation for his wife's hesitation. There was _always_ a logical explanation. Steve would say he was just being paranoid if it hadn't been for his own Tony's discovery. They were clearly just very good at covering their tracks, and Steve found that disturbing.

"I agree that there will be things that we don't understand," Steve said carefully, "but I think that we could be a valuable asset despite that. Obviously our team has our own way of communicating as well—really for two points of communication only you and _I_ have to understand each other."

"It's more efficient if everyone understands each other," Commander Rogers disagreed politely. "I can't think of any reason why a little training wouldn't be welcome for all of us." Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from disagreeing. His double was _sneaky_. Steve wasn't sneaky. He'd never been sneaky. He didn't know _how_ to be sneaky—he supposed that all that time among spies had changed him.

"You set a date and we'll be there," Steve said. "The sooner the better for all of us." Commander Rogers smiled, and it took all of Steve's strength to smile back and not punch the other man in the face.

"Of course," Commander Rogers said. "We'll let you know." Steve took that as the dismissal it was and left the hallway where they had been speaking. He strode out into the living room where the team was waiting.

"Well?" Tony asked as soon as he arrived, but he seemed to be the only one who needed to ask—everyone else had taken in Steve's expression.

"They want us to do some training before we help out," Steve said. There was only so much he _could_ say in their household, but the team seemed to get the message: _I didn't have a choice_. Tony frowned. He looked pissed.

"We're _Avengers_. What goddamn training could we possibly need?" he snapped. Steve was going to calm him down as best he could, but his speech was interrupted by a light giggle. Steve looked over to see Kate, sitting quietly in one of the armchairs—Steve hadn't even noticed she was there. She held a tablet in her hand. She looked up at them, her blue eyes full of mirth.

"You're _kidding_ me, right?" she asked. "Because I've been training _since birth_. I think if I need sixteen years of training even _esteemed individuals_ such as yourselves would need a basic evaluation before they throw you into the field. I mean, you didn't even know there were other universes before you stepped in here by accident—what _else_ don't you know?"

Steve didn't have a good answer to that. Apparently neither did any of the rest of them. Kate raised an eyebrow.

"How many species of alien can you name? Their weak points, strong points, whether or not they're typically friendlies?" she asked. Again, their group was silent. Steve only knew of the Chitauri and the Asgardians. Steve knew that Thor knew many more, but he wondered—did he know them all? Would they encounter _different_ aliens in this universe, and more of them? Kate just rolled her eyes. "Training's about more than 'can you do a kick flip'. A lot of what we learn is history and tactics. And you don't know a _thing_ about this world. You might accidentally blow it up by destroying the wrong evil robot." She stood up, arching one perfect eyebrow. "Trust me, none of you _are_ field ready even if you've been avengering out in your own world." Steve had no words with which to argue the young girl as she stared at him with that challenging expression. She was a force to be reckoned with. Steve was still trying to formulate some sort of response when an alarm sounded.

It was strange, hearing the loud, high-pitched alarm going off. For all the emergencies Steve had sat through in this universe, he'd never heard an _alarm_. Apparently this one warranted it. Kate's face had turned white. The news popped up on the television, and they could see the bright colored lettering of _LIVE _across the screen. Steve's own heart nearly stopped—there in the heart of Manhattan were the Chitauri, wreaking havoc unchecked. Steve ran to the hallway—3490 Tony and Steve were already running out the door.

"Let us help you!" Steve shouted after them.

"There's no time! Just stay out of this! _Stay here_." 3490 Tony commanded.

"But we _know_ them! We've _fought_ the Chitauri_—" _Steve insisted.

"We don't have time for this!" Tony snapped as the armor overtook her. The faceplate locked over her just as she finished speaking. Her husband hopped onto some handholds on the back of the suit, and before Steve could voice another objection, they were in the air and gone. Steve ran back inside.

"What's the situation?" Clint asked as Steve reached the team.

"They've told us to stay behind," Steve said grimly. "But I think in this scenario a little disobedience is necessary. Suit up—we've got to help them." Steve turned to Tony. "How about you Stark? Any way you know of getting your hands on one of those suits?" Tony grimaced.

"No. Her security is air tight—"

"No it's not," Kate interjected. Both men turned to stare at her. She shrugged. "I'd rather this get taken care of before the mansion gets blown up. Again. I can get you a shield and you a suit. I'll help you out, but you've got to promise me something first."

"What do you want?" Tony asked. Kate just pursed her lips.

"Just don't tell them how you got the suit," she said. "Because if you do I'm dead times a septillion and I'm already in hot water."

"Deal," Tony agreed.

"God, I really hope you're not evil," Kate said wearily. "Follow me."


	49. Suit Up

To say that Tony was surprised to have found in Kate a quiet ally was an understatement. He figured if any of the kids would be willing to help them out it would be Peter, but now Tony was having to reassess. Peter was good hearted and friendly, but he was also fairly by-the-book, all things considered. But Kate? Kate was the rebel. Kate, Tony thought as the girl scrolled through screen after screen of encryption on her tablet which was hardwired to the Mark 42, had her own agenda and wasn't afraid to go after what she wanted.

"Almost done?" Tony asked. Kate's job was a very difficult one—not only had she had to get past her mother's pass codes to get them into her lab, but she had to decrypt all of the programming that controlled the suits which would, with Tony's biometrics, automatically bar him from piloting one. After that she would have to reset bits of the codes to allow Tony to pilot, and also to make up for his lack of Extremis. Tony wasn't entirely sure she could do it in five _hours_ let alone five minutes, but that's all she'd said—'give me five minutes'. Five minutes were almost up. Steve stood in a corner trying to get used to the different dimensions and heft of the spare shield Kate had handed him. There were many things in the lab Tony wanted to take a closer look at, but Kate had threatened him with bodily harm if he moved from his spot next to her. Tony had no doubt that she could and would indeed follow through on that threat.

"Thirty seconds," Kate said. She flicked through something on the screen. "This is the Mark 42—"

"I know, I've got one just like it—" Tony said.

"Good, then you know this is one of mom's designs pre-Extremis. It has since been integrated but stripping that code isn't too difficult. You'll still have JARVIS as a co-pilot, though, I can't root him out of there, and I wouldn't even if I could," Kate said. The encryption screens disappeared from the tablet, and Kate set it down. She removed the hardwires from the tablet and Mark 42. She tapped on the chest plate, and the armor opened up, allowing space for Tony to step inside. For a moment he hesitated. It was one thing, to step into an armor of his own design and go flying through the air—it was another thing entirely to rely on someone _else's_ designs to keep him airborne, to walk willingly into a machine that could easily hold him captive if it chose. He started forward anyway—they had to gain 3490's trust _some_how. They had to figure out a way out of this position they were in, and this would be a good start. As he walked forward, Kate grabbed his wrist, stopping him. HE looked at her curiously, and she stared back at him fiercely with her blue eyes.

"I've done everything I can, but if she wants to she can take remote control of your armor," Kate warned him.

"Are the armors networked together?" Tony asked frowning. "We could try to take it offline." Kate just shook her head.

"You've got _no clue_ what Extremis really does, do you? Look, I don't have time to give you the low-down—just know that if you piss her off, get on the ground and give JARVIS emergency override code Oscar Uniform Tango 6-3-8. Clear? You'll have thirty seconds to exit the suit, and I suggest you take cover," Kate said. Tony couldn't help but regard her with a slightly amused expression, but Kate only looked more determined, and her hand gripped his wrist painfully hard. "I'm _serious_. Do you understand?"

"Ow, yes," Tony said, taking his wrist back. He wouldn't be surprised if she left a bruise for the morning—damn super strength. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't be a baby. Get going, both of you. I suggest you announce your presence to this world's avengers loud and clear on the comm channels—otherwise you'll get blasted out of the sky or off the street," Kate said. Tony stepped into the armor taking a deep breath. The armor closed in around him. For a quick moment it was dark, but then the HUD lit up.

"Welcome, sir," JARVIS spoke.

"Oh, J, I know you're not my J, but it sure is good to hear your voice, buddy," Tony said, feeling almost relieved.

"I am sure that it is, sir," JARVIS said pleasantly. "I have advised Madame Kate that this course of action is ill advised and that instating you as a primary user on this suit will have repercussions. I advise you of the same. I cannot undo this programming, but know that I do not agree with the current state of things."

"Well, that's comforting," Tony muttered. "Are you going to be fighting me all the way to Manhattan?"

"Of course not sir," JARVIS said. "I cannot transgress my coding. I will merely state that this action is inadvisable."

"Noted, J, but we've got to get out there and help," Tony said.

"Tony, are we ready to head out?" Steve asked. He sounded worried. Tony lifted the face plate.

"Let's get outside so I don't blast a hole through the roof, but yeah, we're ready," Tony said. He turned to Kate. "Thanks for the help." She regarded him with her arms crossed and a guarded expression.

"Don't thank me yet," she said. "Thank me if you live through the battle. Good luck."

With that, Tony and Steve headed upstairs and then outside where the other Avengers waited. Thor had already transformed—though who the hell knew _how_ considering they were in a different _universe_—and Clint and Nat were all suited up.

"I can carry two," Thor said. Clint and Natasha looked to him, and Tony knew what was happening.

"I've got room for one," Tony said a bit reluctantly.

And that was how, for the first time, Captain America took flight with Iron Man. They set off for Manhattan, ready to help save the world again—even if it wasn't theirs to be saving.


	50. Knife's Edge

Tony couldn't think. Tony couldn't breathe. It was happening all over again. 199999 was the exact same as 525—they'd joined the fight and now 3490 was going to get crushed from both sides and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She felt her heart racing, felt the world getting smaller and smaller as nothing mattered but the pounding of blood in her ears. JARVIS was telling her something. _Look_. _Look_.

199999 was not attacking 3490. They were attacking the Chitauri.

_Friendly. They're friendly_. But could Tony be sure? Could any of them be sure? Or would they fight alongside them only to turn on them at the end? Why had they shown up? Why hadn't they stayed where Tony had left them? Why did they have to get involved, why did her heart have to beat like it was about to jump out of her chest or explode, why did they have to be such _trouble_? Steve was saying something in her ear.

"Work with the alternates but do not let your guards down, people," he told them team over the communication systems. "I have no idea where that other Tony found that suit, but he's obviously more clever than we gave him credit for despite being behind technologically—"

Tony's head spun. Her alternate had stolen one of her suits. One of _her_ suits. There was someone else in Mark 43, someone else piloting her design, designs that were _never _supposed to leave her hands. She took out as many Chitauri as she could but she knew her flight path was erratic. She couldn't calm herself down. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many times she screamed at herself _friendly, friendly, they're friendly_, she still felt her heart hammering away.

"Iron Man what are you doing?" Steve's puzzled voice sounded through her comm.

"Taking out the fucking Chitauri what does it look like?" she snapped. She took in a deep but ragged breath. She could see the other avengers on the ground, all but other Thor and other Tony who flew about taking out the Chitauri.

Tony would know later, from the recordings, that the battle was actually quite quick once 199999 showed up. They had experience with these creatures. And they also had a guess as to where they were coming from—a cosmic cube, lodged in a metal device at the top of a building. They worked together with Commander Rogers to take the cube out, and the moment that they did, the signal was lost, and all the Chitauri collapsed to the ground, dead or unconscious or…something.

But for Tony it felt like hours. She was sweating like crazy by the end of it, and by the time she landed on the ground, she felt nothing but rage as she balanced on the knife's edge of 'fine' and 'panicked'. She was going to be fine, though. She was going to be fine, manage to compose herself, to bitch these crazy bastards out for stealing her stuff and crashing the party where they weren't welcome. She was.

Until 199999 Steve threw his shield at her husband.


	51. Frisbee

Steve was pissed. Steve was pissed at 199999 for disobeying their orders and coming out to fight anyway. They could have caused an absolute mess—he was _this_ close to ordering JARVIS to paralyze them all when they started fighting against the Chitauri. Steve was surprised. And then he was surprised at himself for being surprised. They might not have had the best experiences with other universes, but surely the _majority_ of them had Avengers who were actually good, kind people. Their universe was not a fluke. So Steve was far less pissed when he realized what a massive help 199999 was in the field—even with 3490's far more extensive pool of superhumans, the Chitauri were causing massive damage. And conveniently 199999 knew exactly how to take them out.

That rang alarm bells in Steve's head, but for the moment he was willing to believe their story—that they had dealt with this before. Fine. He could give them the benefit of the doubt for the time being. They _had_ just prevented potential civilian casualties and property damage and the like. So after the battle, Steve headed over to where the Other group had gathered.

"Commander," Steve's double called out. He held up a shield that Steve recognized as his own. "I caught this after it took the head off a Chitauri. Didn't realize it wasn't mine, I just didn't think."

"I was wondering why it didn't come back," Steve said with a smile. He held out his hand, and his double frisbee tossed it to him lightly. A split second later, 199999 Steve was leaping and rolling out of the way as _Iron Man attacked him_.

Ok, there was something desperately wrong with this picture.

"Tony! Tony, what are you doing! Disengage! They're _friendlies! Disengage, Iron Man!"_ Steve said.

"I _saw him_!" his wife's desperate voice resonated through his comm, raw and ragged. "I saw him _attack you_."

"Tony—no, Tony, he was giving me my shield _back_, _disengage_," Steve shouted but she didn't power down. She'd removed her faceplate and her expression was livid. 199999 were surprised to say the least. Hawkeye had his bow drawn.

"Put that _down_ Other Barton!" Steve commanded. "You aren't _helping_—"

"What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing? _Any _of you?" Tony shouted. Her expression wasn't right. Livid was certainly one way to describe it, but her eyes were too wide and her face was too pale. _Terrified_ was another word that came to mind. And a terrified Tony never did a safe situation make.

"_PUT IT DOWN, BARTON!" _Steve roared. Quietly, to JARVIS, he asked, "JARVIS—her vitals aren't right, are they?"

"No, sir," JARVIS replied. "I am doing what I can." While JARVIS did what he could, Tony was screaming at 199999.

"YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN US ALL KILLED DID YOU EVEN THINK? DO YOU KNOW HOW PANICKED WE WERE? WE HAD TO DIVERT ENERGY TO ASSESSING THE THREAT LEVEL YOU PRESENTED INSTEAD OF FOCUSING ON SAVING NEW YORK! YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN YOURSELVES KILLED AND ALL OF US WITH YOU WHAT A STUPID FUCKING ROOKIE MISTAKE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS WE TOLD YOU TO STAY HOME, TO STAY AT THE MANSION, THOSE WERE YOUR ORDERS AND YOU COULDN'T FOLLOW EVEN THE SIMPLEST COMMAND—"

It took Steve halfway through her rant to realize she was yelling in Italian. At most, Tony, Steve, and Natasha understood her. More likely only Tony and Natasha did. To everyone else, it sounded like she was spouting nonsense. To everyone else, she had just randomly started attacking 199999. To everyone else, this situation looked very _not good_. She was still suited up even though her faceplate was off. Her arms moved wildly as she gestured, and Steve felt dread settle in the pit of his stomach as soon as he heard the car alarms starting to go off.

Uh-oh.


	52. Extremis

Tony knew the moment that the car alarms began to go off that something was terribly, horribly wrong. Well, actually, his double screaming in Italian was another hint, but the moment it sounded like every car alarm in the city had gone off at once, Tony remembered Kate's solid advice.

"JARVIS, emergency override code Oscar Uniform Tango 6-3-8," Tony ordered, but just as he finished doing so the suit began to rise off the ground—it was six feet in the air by the time it released Tony. He fell to the pavement, on top of bits of debris and broken glass, the wind knocked out of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder as something blocked out the sun. He blinked, realizing slowly that it was Steve, squatting next to him and shielding him.

"You ok, Stark?" Steve asked.

"Mmph," was the only reply Tony could manage as he finally got his breath back. He tried to lift himself up—Steve grabbed onto him, helping him get into the same squatting position behind Steve's shield. The other Avengers, he could see, had scattered, taking shelter where they could. His double stood in the middle of the street. She wasn't yelling at _them_ anymore, considering most of the 199999 Avengers had scattered, but she stood there, looking for all the world like she was trying to get a hold of herself. 3490 Steve spoke to her in a calm voice, from a slight distance. Tony could see the worry on his face.

At first, Tony thought it was merely worry for his wife's well being, which, it must have been in large part, but then, as Tony heard engines revving, his stomach sank and he realized that the Commander's concern was not only for his wife.

_You've got _no clue_ what Extremis really does, do you? _Kate's words rang in his ears, ominous. No, he hadn't had a clue. But he was starting to get the picture.

"MOVE!" Steve shouted, but before Tony even knew what was happening two hundred and forty pounds of muscle slammed into him, shoving him to the side just as a driverless semi-truck barreled right over the spot Tony had been squatting over. Apparently Clint and Natasha had fared only just as well—cars whizzed past, some of them running up on the curbs and crashing into buildings in their frenzy to run down the 199999 Avengers. Tony was incredibly grateful for the fact that the Hulk was in anther sector; he had been busy taking down a Leviathan. Tony had no idea where Thor was. Tony could see Clint leaping out of the way as two cars crashed into each other, right in the spot he'd just been standing in. Steve was running with Tony, moving him out of the way as they both tried to keep an eye on the team and also take shelter from the cars. Clint drew his bow and loosed an arrow—3490 Cap roared in fury as he rolled out to block the blow with his shield.

By now, other Avengers had begun returning from their various stations evacuating civilians and fighting in other areas, likely hearing the commotion. Tony yelped in surprise as one appeared right next to him.

"Shit, what happened?" the unknown Avenger asked. She had blonde hair in a pixie cut, a blue spandex costume, and an expression that communicated to Tony that she would fuck shit up if she had to.

"It was my fault—I tossed Commander Rogers his shield, but I guess it looked like—"

"Like you were attacking him—_shit_," the unknown Avenger grabbed them both and yanked them _off the ground_ (Tony might have been freaking out a little at that point) and out of the way as the lightbulbs in the street lamps above them exploded, sending shards of glass to the ground below.

"Sorry, who are you?" Steve asked.

"CAROL. Captain Marvel," the now identified avenger who could apparently _fly_ answered back as she set them down.

The city _sounded_ like it was in chaos. The car alarms were cacophony enough, but Tony could hear loud music playing from several different apartments, stereo systems that had been commandeered by Extremis. Cars had flipped, engines were on fire, and in the midst of it all stood Antonella, visibly trembling, rooted to the spot but hovering a few inches off the ground, her husband speaking to her softly in Italian. Tony only ever caught a word here and there in all the noise. Mainly from Antonella he heard,

"_I can't_."

"I didn't know you were cleared for field duty yet!" Carol practically shouted over the noise. Her face went blank for a moment, and then she shouted into her comm, "No, Rhodes, stay _out_ of the zone, Tony's Extremis has gone haywire, get the _fuck_ out of dodge, you hear?" She returned her attention to Steve and Tony.

"We, uh, weren't, exactly," Steve explained. Carol groaned and looked mighty pissed.

"Oh, so you pissed her off, freaked her out, and then decided to look like you were about to kill her husband? Fantastic—no wonder—look, you and your merry little band of alternates need to _get out of here_," Carol said. "That means your friends over there too—the sooner you're out of sight the—_duck_—better." They all hit the ground as the Mark 42 swooped over head, Steve shielding them all as it attacked with its repulsors. Tony recalled, in the back of his mind, developing those repulsors. He recalled Pepper coming in, asking him what he was doing, she thought he had stopped making weapons. _Perfectly harmless_. Well, that had never been true. Carol swore under her breath as they squashed behind Steve's shield. "Any ideas, Stark?"

Tony panicked momentarily. Usually, in the presence of Steve no one asked him for ideas, unless they were tech related. But this? This was strategy related and unless someone didn't think of something quick, that suit would get close enough to take them all out—three people didn't hide so well behind a single shield.

Out of the blue, the suit was blasted out of the sky. Tony couldn't tell _which_ Thor it was, but _a_ Thor flew past, clearly the source of the mysterious lightning.

"CAPTAIN!" Thor thundered, and it took Tony a moment to realize he didn't mean Steve. Free from having to hide behind a shield, Captain Marvel shot into the air, and only as Tony looked up did he realize why—the two were headed straight towards a plane flying overhead that looked like it was having a rather lot of trouble staying in the air.

"So how are we going to get Widow and Hawkeye out of here?" Tony asked Steve. Currently the two in question were all over the place, and Tony had no doubt they soon would be as well.

"Hopefully good old _shouting_ will do the trick," Steve said. "Because I've got nothing."

"Hold your ground," said a voice suddenly. It was at once familiar and not. Tony was surprised to look to his left and find 3490 Clint standing there beside them. His bow was drawn, an arrow nocked. He glanced at them only briefly before speaking into his comm. "Target locked, Commander. EMP at the ready. We need to put her down. I've got a sedative." Tony took a brief moment to wonder how on earth anyone communicated with Clint via an earpiece, but he got a partial answer just moments later as the Commander turned to face them. He looked livid, and he signed something. Tony guessed that it was the sign for _no_. Possibly _fuck no_. Or _fuck off_. No matter what it actually was, the same general thing was communicated.

"With all due respect Commander, she's endangering the lives of civilians not to mention the property damage. Calm her down in the next sixty seconds or I'm firing the EMP," 3490 Hawkeye said calmly. Looking murderous, 3490 Steve signed some things that were probably not very complimentary and threw out at least one sign that even Tony—and Steve—understood perfectly well. 3490 Clint seemed completely undeterred. 3490 Steve returned to conversing with his wife. Tony only caught a few words of the Italian (and why were they talking in Italian anyway? Did _his_ Steve know Italian? Uh, not _his_ Steve. His _universe's_ Steve, that was better phrasing) coming from that direction.

"—stronger than this—"

"—trying—"

"—breathe—"

Slowly, ever so slowly, the cars that were moving came to a stop as their engines cut. The city gradually quieted, with car horns no longer blaring and alarms shutting off. Stuff was still on fire, but at least Tony's ears weren't bleeding anymore. 3490 Clint lowered his bow as 3490 Steve finally approached his wife, holding her in his arms as her armor melted back under her skin, leaving her in a simple tee and leggings. Out of armor, Antonella looked fragile, like she could barely keep herself on her feet. Tony could tell that her cheeks were wet, and she was still shaking. 3490 Hawkeye regarded Tony and Steve.

"Get out of here," he said forcefully. "Grab your Widow and your Hawkeye as stealthily as you can and _get out_ of here."

"Is she—is she going to be ok?" Steve asked.

"It was a panic attack. She'll be fine, but not if you all set her off again. _Go_," 3490 Hawkeye insisted. Tony and Steve didn't need to be told twice. Steve grabbed his upper arm leading him along their stealthy route behind overturned vehicles and other debris to Natasha and Clint. Steve didn't even need to speak when they reached them, just gestured to move out and then they were all headed out and away from the disaster zone.


	53. Aftermath

"If that had been _anything _but an EMP arrow, Barton," Commander Rogers snarled, leaving the the threat hanging. His intent was clear enough. Steve had never seen such rage on his double's face, and it was disconcerting. _Do I look like that when I'm mad_? Steve always had to wonder. They all sat at the kitchen table, gathered there like naughty children caught stealing the cookie jar. Commander Rogers was the only one standing, his hands in fists on top of the table. "Your recklessness—all of you—could have killed us all."

"How were we supposed to know Extremis could even _do_ that, let alone how Tony would react?" Tony demanded. Tony was not spared the Commander's rage despite his similarity to his wife.

"You _weren't_," Commander Rogers snapped. "That's the whole _damn point_. That's the whole reason we wanted you all to _train_ first, so you can be made aware of situations you don't comprehend, so you can better evaluate emergencies. You are all _damn lucky_ I don't toss your asses in a prison for the rest of this year for the blatant disregard of orders and _stealing equipment_. How in the hell did you get into my wife's lab, anyway?" Tony just shrugged, his gaze defiant.

"I'm a Stark. She's a Stark. We think alike," he said.

"Not _that_ alike," Commander Rogers said coolly. "Did Peter help you?"

"No," Tony said, and Steve was grateful that the answer was a hundred percent honest—he had a niggling feeling that Commander Rogers would be able to suss out a lie in an instant. Commander Rogers still looked suspicious, but he didn't disagree. Nor did he ask if _Kate_ had. It seemed not to be a consideration. It looked like 199999 weren't the only ones underestimating Kate Rogers.

"I'll see if Peter agrees with that," Commander Rogers said. "Now the only _real_ question is what the hell I do with you people." The Commander took out a chair and sat down. "Clearly, I can't trust you to do as you're asked. But before everything went to hell in a hand basket your team was a valuable asset in the field. You're slower. You're less effective. But you're not bad, and in a full-scale invasion 'not bad' is all we need." Commander Rogers leaned back in his chair. "If you want to join us in the field that badly we're not letting you skip training. I don't _care_ if it makes you feel infantilized. As demonstrated today, it's a necessary step. You want to be field operatives, you'll show up at Avengers Academy tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred for assessment. If you don't show up, I better not see you in my operations ever again. And either way, if I catch you in the field unauthorized a second time I _will_ toss you in prison until the end of your stay, clear?"

"And this isn't one?" Tony challenged.

"_No_," Commander Rogers said emphatically. "Do you want to go? There's the door, Stark. Walk right on out, I won't stop you. None of you concern me unless you're jeopardizing the safety of others. You want to leave, you go ahead and leave. Sure would save Tony and I on the grocery bill." Commander Rogers stood, still looking monumentally pissed off. "I get that this whole damn universe must feel like a prison to you. But believe me, Stark, we want you gone more than you even want to go. If I could toss you all back where you came from today without risking a cataclysm I would _do it_. Show up tomorrow, don't, leave, stay—I don't _care_. Just _stay out of our way_." With that, Commander Rogers left the room, likely returning upstairs to where 3490 Tony rested. Steve let out a breath he hadn't realized he was even holding.

"Everybody's all good?" he asked. Clint and Natasha nodded, Tony scowled, Bruce looked a bit too calm, and Thor just frowned.

"I am troubled," Thor admitted. "There is much here that we do not know, much that we do not understand."

"We just have to work through it," Steve said. He wasn't happy about it either, and he knew it showed on his face. Thor just nodded.

"I shall seek out Jane, if we are done here," he said.

"Yeah, I think we're done," Steve said. There wasn't much they could say within the Mansion, anyway, even if they had something to say about everything that had just happened. Thor left, and Clint and Natasha did as well, speaking quietly to one another, their heads close. Steve stood as well.

"Rogers," Tony said.

"What is it, Stark?" Steve asked.

"Thanks for—thanks for having my back out there," Tony spoke. He looked almost embarrassed. Steve shrugged.

"Of course. We're teammates. I'm always going to have your back, Tony," Steve replied. He rubbed the back of his neck. "You should get some rest. We could all do with some sleep."

"Sure, Cap," Tony agreed, getting up from his chair as well. He looked drained. He looked freaked out. Steve put a hand on his shoulder.

"That's not ever going to be you," Steve said. Tony blinked and stared at him for a moment. "You don't have Extremis, and you don't need it. You are Iron Man, even if you don't have the suit seeping out through your bones."

"Was that a compliment?" Tony said, grinning. "Did you just _compliment_ me?" Steve rolled his eyes and removed his hand.

"Don't get used to it, Stark."

"It _was_. That was a _compliment_," Tony said, following after him. "Pinch me, I think I may faint."

"Why are you always such an ass?" Steve groaned.

"Natural state of things, Cap. Natural state."


	54. Home

"I'm sorry," were the first words out of Tony's mouth as Steve arrived upstairs. She'd been apologizing ever since the accident, and it broke Steve's heart. She laid on their bed, looking utterly exhausted. Steve knew how much these attacks took out of her. He just shook his head and came to sit beside her on the bed. He took her hand in his and kissed the inside of her wrist (_direct line to your heart_, he'd told her once when she laughed and asked him why he'd kissed her there).

"Don't be," Steve said softly. He pushed back some hair falling onto her forehead. She still felt cold and clammy, and he knew from the way her chest moved that her breathing wasn't quite back to normal just yet. "You couldn't help it, couldn't control it."

"But I _did_," Tony said helplessly. "I did, in the end."

"I don't think you could have from the start," Steve soothed her. "These things just have to run their course sometimes."

"I guess," Tony relented, but she didn't sound pleased about it. "I'll apologize to the alts later. None of them are hurt?"

"They're fine, Tony," Steve said, his expression turning a bit sour. "_Too_ fine—I was this close to nailing Barton's ass for pulling an arrow on you." Tony just laughed weakly.

"Sweetheart, that didn't sound right," she said suggestively. Steve rolled his eyes.

"You know what I meant," he said. He rubbed circles on the back of her palm gently with his thumb. "Are you still feeling sick?"

"A bit," Tony admitted.

"Can I get you anything? Water? Crackers?" he asked. Tony shook her head. "Tell me what you need." Steve hated seeing Tony like this. It reminded him too much of that awful year he had spent looking after her as she wasted away, dying. It reminded him too much of the cancer that had sapped her strength, sucked all the vitality and life from her until there was little left of his wife that was recognizable.

"Just stay with me?" Tony asked. "Unless there's something urgent…" Steve kissed her wrist again.

"Nothing's more urgent than you right now," he said. He moved to his side of the bed and got on top of the covers. Tony snuggled up to him, laying her head on his chest. Steve felt better with Tony beside him. He could feel her heartbeat slowly coming down from its adrenaline-induced high, matching up with Steve's own steady beat. He was so glad that she was here beside him, safe and sound and that no one else was much worse for wear. Well, part of New York City was a lot more damaged than it had been even after the fight, but things could be replaced. No one had been hurt. The Alternates' moronic decisions that day hadn't done any irreversible harm. Still, they had begun to grate on him. He hadn't ever been fully comfortable with bringing them home, and now…

"Tony?" Steve asked.

"Hmm?" Tony replied, and Steve was pleased she sounded sleepy and relaxed instead of ill and wound up.

"I'm—I think…I think maybe we should move to Protocol 42," Steve said. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him.

"Because of today?" she asked him, sounding puzzled.

"Of course because of today," Steve said. "Tony…they could have gotten all of us killed, themselves included. It's not _safe_."

"Didn't you just give them a talking-to about that?" Tony asked.

"I think this merits more than a talking-to," Steve said seriously.

"Protocol 42 seems a little extreme in the given circumstances," Tony replied, searching his face. "What else is there?" Steve shifted uncomfortably, careful not to move Tony too much.

"It's not just today," he admitted. "I don't—Tony you know I wasn't the biggest fan of this move in the first place. They're here, alone with the kids a lot of the time."

"You know JARVIS would never let them get hurt," Tony said.

"And what if JARVIS goes offline for some reason?" Steve asked.

"Peter and Kate and even James all know the trigger words," Tony said, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "We talked about this before I brought them back, Steve."

"I know, I _know_, I just… I don't like it. It's feeling crowded in here," he admitted. "They hear everything. They know _everything_. Hell, they know some shit before we do—your double and alternate Banner helped Peter out with his powers before he ever came to us."

"So _that's_ what this is about," Tony said. She sighed and closed her eyes. "I won't lie. I don't like that Peter went to them first, either. I'm not sure I want to know about all the other little things they're privy to that we aren't. But protocol 42 is too harsh right now." She reopened her eyes and traced along Steve's jaw with a single, delicate finger. "Would _you_ want to be thrown in Prison 42 for a year if you ended up in another universe? Would you want me to be? Or James or Kate or Peter?"

"No," Steve said reluctantly.

"They haven't done anything to prove they're a _genuine_ threat yet, Steve," Tony said softly. "Today was an accident, and mostly my fault. I'm just as afraid of repeating 525 as you are, Steve. But locking them away isn't the answer, and you know it. We can't put them in jail just because who they _are_ poses a threat. It wouldn't be right."

"I know," Steve said, sighing heavily. Tony smiled.

"Aren't _you_ supposed to be the one giving _me_ righteous speeches about civil liberties?" she asked. Steve chuckled.

"That _is_ usually my job, isn't it?" he said. "I guess I just—I'm so used to our home being _ours_."

"I could send them to the Triskelion," Tony said, looking reluctant. "But it's easier to monitor them here. And you know what they say about keeping your friends close…"

"I know, I know," Steve said tiredly. "It's all the reasons I agreed to this in the first place." Tony leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

"This will all be over soon enough," she said. "Before you know it, honey." Steve just smiled back at his wife, but privately he thought nothing could be soon enough unless it was _right_ _now_. Steve Rogers was getting very tired of having alternates in his home. He stroked his wife's hair, just listening to her gentle breathing. He thought she had fallen asleep by the time she asked, "Steve?"

"What is it, Tony?" he asked.

"I need to talk to you," she murmured, her face still half against his chest and her eyes closed.

"Shh," he told her, and kissed her forehead. "Sleep now, Tony. Whatever it is can wait until morning."

"S'important," she said.

"It can wait," Steve insisted. "Get some rest, Tony." She made a small noise of protest but did not speak again, and minutes later she was sleeping.


	55. Marvelous Cinematic Universe

"Groundrules?" James asked his father. A select team from the Academy, the MCU Avengers, and Peter's mother and father all stood in the vast gym created especially for the Avengers. Located in the Avengers Academy, Peter knew that this gym was the one his parents used whenever they needed to practice as a team as well. It was the size of a large warehouse (which it had previously been) and outfitted with all of his mother's best tech—holographs that you could touch, feel, and manipulate like real objects, programmed scenes and scenarios that had outcomes entirely dependent on the players' actions. He'd told his mother that she should get into the video game business once, but she had just rolled her eyes. She didn't want anyone messing with her tech who might do something less than well intentioned with it, and that meant not releasing it for public consumption. Peter understood that, even if he still really wanted to play _Dragon Age_ against holographic dragons in a giant warehouse. If he could ever figure out how to get past security, he might just sneak in one day and program it in as an available scenario. His mother might kill him, but if he could fight dragons, it might be a worthy death.

"Nothing that would cause permanent or serious injury," Mom said. "Remember to shout 'dead' if you get somebody in a position where you could have killed them in real life."

"Strictures on my lightning?" Torrun asked.

"No electrocuting mortals," Dad replied.

"Does that count for me too?" Azari asked, a complaint in his voice.

"Fine you two; keep it to a little static shock," Dad said, relenting. "Nothing remotely dangerous, understood?" Azari nodded. Torrun smiled. Peter shuddered. He'd been on the receiving end of Azari's shocks before—'static' level or not (a description which Peter had to mental scold his father for—didn't he know how dangerous static shock could actually get, like on other planets?) and it was never a pleasant experience.

"What about my spider powers?" Peter asked.

"Don't stick to things and no webs," Dad said in response. "And those of you with super strength, just use your best judgment. Natasha does _not_ have any serum variant in her blood. Tony has no version of Extremis. That will bring both of their strength levels and healing factors down significantly, so don't play them like you would their counterparts here, all right? What might be a bruise for our Natasha could easily be a broken bone for this one." He looked at Alt Bruce. "Dr. Banner, will you be joining this exercise today?"

"I…don't think that would be wise," Alt Bruce said cautiously. Dad just nodded, understanding.

"All right. Teddy, you're out," Steve said.

"Awwww," Teddy said, moving to join the 'rejects' for the session on the other side of the room; they would leave before things got started. Dad had invited a bunch of the most promising students at the academy (plus Peter) to help assess the alternate avengers in fighting technique, teamwork and communication, and ability levels. The team they had ended up with, however, was whittled even further from the invites—Dad had picked a single player per Avenger, trying to match them as best as he could. James was the head of the team, playing as Alt Cap's equal. Kate had gotten booted off the team in favor of Francis to play Clint's match—they had decided that Kate's extra super genes were an unfair advantage. Peter was on the team to play Natasha's equal, though David Alleyne, a mimetic mutant who had gotten rejected from the Xavier's after a few questionable involvements, had been another considered option. Torrun was the obvious choice to fight Alt Thor, and Teddy _would_ have been the obvious choice to fend off the Hulk. The difficult one was Alt Tony—no one used tech to fight at Avengers Academy. They all had powers. Aside from Francis, who was an odd exception. Well, except for Juston and Sentinel, but they were also weird exception. And except for Adam, who _was_ a robot. Or Robbie, who just had his rocket skateboard and a good brain. Or Takashi, whose power _was_ his tech-making ability… Actually, Mickey used a suit, too, didn't she? Come to think of it, Peter wondered why his Dad hadn't invited any of them. There was some debate between using Billy—who could have magicked himself a similar suit—or Azari, who would be able to fight against the suit with his electrokinetic abilities. Azari was picked in the end. The rejected team, Billy, Teddy, Kate, Tommy, and David, would watch and maybe get a chance to do their own scrimmage later.

"All right, let's get this show on the road. Once we exit to the viewing room, I'll set up your scenario. We're going to play a game of capture the flag, super-style. Your goal will be to get the other team's flag back to your designated area without dying. If you die—that is, if someone delivers gently what would have been a kill shot and calls it—you're out of the game. Are we down with the rules?" Tony asked. Thor raised his hand, which Peter found hysterical. Everyone stared at him. He looked at his hand.

"Jane told me it was custom to raise your hand in response to questions in a classroom setting," Thor informed them, looking confused.

"She's…she's correct, Thor—what did you want to ask?" Mom said.

"I am not certain I feel comfortable fighting against such young Midgardians," Thor admitted, looking worried. "I am concerned about accidentally harming one of them."

"Every one of these kids but Francis has some form of super strength and super healing," Dad said. "Nobody's using full power in here—just keep those shocks to a minimum. If anything looks like it's getting out of hand, we'll call it. If you call down a lightning strike that's too strong, I'm sure Torrun will take care of it. Won't you, Torrun?" Torrun nodded. Thor did not look completely appeased, but he nodded reluctantly.

"Very well," he said.

"Anything else?" Mom asked. The room was silent. She clapped her hands together. "Right. Let's get started." She gestured for the other team to leave, with her and Dad taking the rear and closing the door behind them. The two teams waited for a moment, slightly tense, before the scenery appeared around them. They were in a forest setting—there were trees to hide behind or use as leverage for moves.

"Ready…" his mother's voice sounded over the PA system. "Set…" Peter felt his heart in his throat as he stood across from Alt Natasha. This was, really, his first fight _ever_. At least, his first fight where he actually stood a chance. "Go." Better not screw it up.

Peter leapt into action. Alt Natasha came straight at him, not worrying about the flag. She must have come to a similar strategic conclusion as Peter—kill your opponent first, and then you can _walk_ to the flag. Peter had to admire her fighting style, but, unfortunately for her, it was one with which Peter was familiar, having seen his aunt in action a thousand times over. His pre-cog effect probably wasn't fair, and Peter felt a bit bad about that but he didn't know how to turn that particular ability off—it just sort of happened. Peter jumped and grabbed a tree branch, swinging a two-legged kick at Natasha, but she slid right under him and ended up on his other side. He barely had enough time to turn and duck as she swung at him.

Peter knew that, up against Alt Natasha, while he still stood a chance, they were probably _fairly_ equally skilled, given Peter's lack of training and established handicaps for the game. He doubted he would be able to take her out on his own—which was where the basic training he'd had just from listening to talk at the dinner table for sixteen years came in handy.

Natasha was about as bent on attacking him as he was on her—so much so that he could be certain she would continue to attack him even if he backed off. He did so, retreating, moving in other directions, leading her deeper into another area of the forest.

"Francis, have you got eyes on me?" Peter asked into his comm in as low a voice as he could manage. Peter knew that, wherever Francis was, he was up high.

"I don't," Francis replied.

"I'm coming around the big willow tree on the left side in about five seconds—got eyes on that?" Peter asked quickly.

"Yeah," Francis replied.

"Good—Widow will be two seconds behind me," Peter said, leaping out of the way of another onslaught from the super spy.

"Copy that," Francis said, and Peter could practically hear the grin in his voice. Natasha was a brilliant spy, Peter knew. But she didn't appear to be working with the _team_. Peter rounded the tree, and just as he predicted, Natasha followed him—only to be hit in the head with a sticky arrow moments later.

"DEAD!" Francis shouted from his place in the trees above, though Peter still couldn't see him. Moments later though, he heard Francis groan.

"Dead," Peter heard the voice of Alt Clint call. Peter headed in that direction. He could see lightning striking far off in the distance—Torrun and Thor, he guessed.

"Peter, do you have a handle on—" James' voice said in his ear.

"Natasha's down, but so is Francis. I'm going after Clint," Peter interrupted.

"Try and herd him towards the center of the warehouse," James said. "I have a plan, but—"

"DEAD!" Peter heard Azari call from off in the distance, and sure enough, seconds later he heard him confirm that Tony was dead over the comm. Peter finally caught sight of Clint. From behind. The man was sneaking through the trees quietly, using them as cover whenever he could. It was clear he was headed towards their flag. Peter circled around, getting in front of him, and then, when the spy least expected it, Peter leapt forward, charging him, hoping to drive him backwards.

At least, Peter figured Clint would be least expecting it, but he seemed fully prepared for Peter's assault, grabbing him by his arms just beneath his elbows and throwing him to the side using Peter's own momentum from the charge. Peter slammed into the trunk of a tree, and for a moment his vision went white with pain—he might have dislocated his left shoulder. He bit his lip and sucked it up, jumping out of the way of a blow from Clint's bow. This time, retreating wasn't a trick, though Peter certainly calculated where he was going.

"Headed to the middle," Peter said, panting, into his comm.

"Good, good just—agh—keep coming," James said. Peter obeyed his older brother's commands, leading Clint towards the middle until he could see his older brother. He fought against the Captain in the middle of a clearing. He didn't look like he was having a fun time of it either—he already sported a split lip and there was a cut on his cheek. He still smirked though.

"Getting slow, Captain," James goaded his opponent. "You're all pretty slow—you look great doing it, though, like _slow motion_. You're a marvelously _cinematic_ universe—everything looks dramatic and great but there's no goddamn _substance_." James landed a blow on the Captain with his last words.

"I can see you—now what?" Peter asked. He yelped as he narrowly avoided a kick from Clint by dropping to the ground and rolling, hitting his shoulder again as he went.

"Water," James gasped as the Captain landed a punch to his gut. At first Peter didn't understand, but then he saw the shallow little pond that James was staggering backward into. Peter weighed his options—he could continue to run and hope that Clint would pursue him, but it seemed unlikely—at some point, he knew, the man was going to stop and _let_ him run, and then pick him off with a well placed arrow. Peter chose option two. He turned around, not running anymore, and grabbed Clint, grappling with the archer and surprising the man. They stumbled backwards in this awkward embrace until they reached the clearing. Peter used his strength to throw the other man down to the ground. Clint, however, was ready for such a move and swept Peter's legs out from under him. Peter didn't mind—they were still headed towards the pond. He rolled out of the way of another blow and got up, taking the offensive and leveling kicks at the archer until he was backing up into the water. As soon as his feet hit the pond in which James and the Captain were already fighting, James screamed,

"AZARI, NOW!" James leapt up, grabbing a branch of a nearby tree. Azari came from seemingly out of nowhere and a blue streak of lightning hit the pond.

"OW," Clint complained, looking annoyed. The Captain grimaced.

"DEAD," Azari, James, and Peter all yelled at once. James jumped back down into the pond, grinning.

"All right boys, let's go get that flag," he said. No need to run anymore—they walked all the way into the Alts' territory, James merely reminding Torrun to keep Thor distracted. They grabbed the flag and ran back to their own designated area. A bell rang, and the scenery disappeared.

"Game Over," an electronic voice declared. "Time: Twenty Minutes, Eight Seconds. Deaths: One Player, Blue Team, Four Deaths, Red Team. Winner: Blue Team."

"Marvelously Cinematic, huh?" Peter asked his brother as the alts gathered across from them, not looking particularly pleased. James just smirked.

"MCU sure is easier to say than 199999," Francis said, looking grouchy. They had, of course, all heard the insult over the comms. Mom and Dad re-entered the practice space. Francis scowled as they approached. "You know, I wouldn't have _died_ if I didn't have to declare Natasha dead—he never would have _found_ me if I didn't have to give up my position."

"Then you should have let _Peter_ declare her dead instead of taking prideful credit for the shot," Mom scolded him. Francis just scowled more but said nothing.

"Best out of three?" Alt Tony suggested from the back. Peter's parents looked at each other, then nodded.

"I think that would be best. Kids, swap teams—Billy, Teddy, Kate, Tommy, David—you're up. Let's see how the MCU does against a different skill set," Mom said.

"That is _not_ sticking," Alt Clint groaned. Mom just smirked in response.

"Swap out kids!" she said, and Blue Team retired to the viewing area. Peter took a seat as the fight began; he would go to the nurse after round two to fix his arm. He was surprised to find that some of the Avengers Academy kids who _hadn't_ received a special invite had arrived in the room, eager to watch. Well, Peter thought they must be eager to watch, but many of them watched the second team with bored or even annoyed expressions. Peter had no idea why—but he was sure he would find out. This was, after all, to be his first day at Avengers Academy, moved up a few days—and so far, it was off to a great start.


	56. Not Even Close

No one was seriously injured, of course, as per the rules of the game, but by the end of it all the Avengers of 199999, or the MCU as 3490 had decided to nickname them, were covered in bruises and scrapes and all over aching from the fight. The second round had gone little better than the first; without the electrokinetic powers of Azari, Tony managed to gain a bit more ground on the field, but Kate took him down with an EMP arrow quickly and efficiently, and then joined him on the ground to finish the job. Kate had turned out to be the ringleader of the second team, this time splitting their resources in ways that matched them up unevenly—Kate was a physical match against Clint, so she took on Tony instead. Billy was thrown at Thor, deceiving him with magic in the same ways that Loki could; Teddy, meant for Steve, was instead given orders to go after Natasha instead; David Alleyne, meant for Natasha, was sent instead to Steve and though he lacked super strength his fighting skills were nothing to scoff at; Tommy ran circles around Hawkeye—literally, to the point where all the oxygen disappeared from the vortex he created and Clint passed out. Cap had managed to take down David, Natasha had managed to injure Billy but not to get in a kill shot, and all the others had been taken out by the young team quite quickly.

They were all in the locker rooms, washing off now, largely in weighted silence. It all made Steve's stomach roil. He felt like he had failed the team as a tactician, as their leader, but how were they even supposed to fight other super-powered people? Aliens? Fine. Steve had gotten used to aliens. A few powered people here and there? Yes, the Avengers had dealt with individuals before. But a highly trained team of super powered people? They hadn't stood a chance. Even though Steve knew that the team _was_ holding back a little—they didn't want 3490 to see their full hand—Steve doubted they would have been able to win these games anyway. They were, in the words of Nick Fury, hopelessly, _hilariously_ outclassed. Steve didn't even want to think about the fact that their opponents were _kids_, largely just teenagers who couldn't even get a New York driver's license yet. He didn't want to think about it, because he didn't want to know what that meant their _parents_ could do, their parents with a team so large that full group pictures rarely showed everyone's faces.

Steve turned off the water of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and headed for his duffel filled with fresh clothes. Thor and Clint were already changing. Clint might be rather bruised as well, but Steve didn't think Clint minded much. By the careful, deep breaths he took, Steve figured that it was the _second_ round of games that had bothered him the most. Steve put on his boxers and dropped the towel just as the last faucet shut off and Tony joined them in the locker area.

"Well, that wasn't exactly what I expected," Tony said, breaking the silence. "When Tony told us we'd be fighting the kids I kind of expected them to break out the Nerf guns. Now I'm just worried what these little monsters could do with foam bullets. Probably take out a few eyes at least." Steve had to chuckle at that.

"Just eyes? That Kate would probably find the exact wrong spot in your armor and stick a foam arrow in there that would make the whole thing explode," Steve replied. Tony looked very indignant.

"I would never design my armor with a flaw as fatal as the exhaust pipe on the Death Star, thank you very much," he huffed.

"No, but if you did she'd find it," Clint agreed as he tugged a t-shirt over his head. He looked disturbed. They all _felt_ disturbed, Steve knew. There was no amount of humor that could dispense the uneasiness that had settled over all of them like a thick, persistent dust.

"You really need to learn to fight without the armor, Tony," Steve said, pensive. "As soon as your armor was out she _had_ you."

"Well, highly trained super-soldier crazy girl, yeah, she had me," Tony said, scowling.

"But you might have stood a _chance_ if you had a bit more hand to hand training," Steve said, even though he knew it was a lie. There was no way forty-something Tony Stark could compete with a weaponized sixteen year old super soldier, but he might have _lasted_ longer. He might have been able to get _away_. He might have bought enough time for the EMP's effects to fade. That was when the idea struck him. "A _gym_."

"Yes, that's what we usually call these types of training facilities," Tony said blandly. Steve rolled his eyes.

"No—no—a _gym_. I'll—we can talk about it later. But you're going to start training hand-to-hand with me from now on. Maybe even once a day," Steve said, lacing up his sneakers. His teammates—especially Tony—looked at him like he was nuts, but Steve didn't care. He'd found the perfect solution to their problems. A _gym_—an old, abandoned gym would be the perfect place for them to begin work on their time machine. The Avengers could easily claim they preferred the privacy of their own space to work out, and it wouldn't be unusual for them to train every day. They could put the equipment they needed in a gym, and start their work on going home. This whole day might not be the horrible defeat it seemed to be; they could work themselves out of this mess. And maybe Tony _could_ learn some actual hand to hand along the way.


	57. Avengers Academy

"So today we have a new classmate. Plenty of you know Peter already. Peter was recently—uh, bitten by a spider and got super powers. We're still working on figuring that one out," Dr. Henry Pym spoke. Peter sat in a classroom with everyone else. They sat in desks. Peter sat next to Kate. Francis sat behind her and was playing with her hair. Most of the other Academy students appeared equally unengaged. All but one, that was.

"Shouldn't he be in the Junior class?" Ava Ayala asked. Peter knew her tangentially. He had met her once or twice and knew that she was another White Tiger.

"Ah, well, that's—as you know, Peter has grown up around superheroes—"

"And we all know this school is rigged," another kid Peter didn't know spoke up.

"Now, Brandon, that's not true—Peter has grown up hearing all about tactics, learning lessons from his parents, and I think that, those of us who watched the scrimmage with the Alts this morning would all agree that Peter fought admirably—" Dr. Pym tried, but the other students weren't having any of it. Peter was surprised at the sudden animosity.

"Oh, so there are placement tests now? Where was the placement test three years ago when I showed up?" a girl Peter vaguely recognized as Jeanne Foucault, or the girl Kate most often referred to as "that bitch Jeanne Foucault", demanded.

"Well—it's not—it's not the same situation, precisely—" Dr. Pym tried again.

"Right, it's not the same situation because _this school is rigged_," the dark-haired boy named Brandon spat again.

"Oh, shut up Sharpe," Kate snapped. "What harm does it do for him to be in the advanced class instead of with all the little kids in Junior?"

"He'll slow us down," Brandon argued.

"Then he doesn't have to be on _your _scrimmage team," Kate retorted. "What, you afraid of a little competition?" Brandon sat back in his desk, leveling a murderous glare at Peter's sister. Kate stared back, unflinching, and eventually Brandon looked away. Dr. Pym coughed.

"Let's just—move past this topic then, shall we?" he said. Dr. Pym then launched into a lecture about Latveria, Dr. Doom, and his various known weapons and tactics. Peter wasn't really listening—he found, after a moment, that he already knew most of what Pym was talking about anyway.

"Thanks," Peter whispered quietly to Kate. "What was their problem?"

"Later," Kate whispered back. Then she eyed Francis behind her. "Why are you braiding my hair?"

"What?" Francis asked, affronted. "It's soft."

"Why are you even in class?" Peter asked him. "You _work for SHIELD_."

"Funny, Pym never asks me that question. I think he's getting old," Francis said.

"He comes to bother me and Torrun," Kate said.

"Don't be ridiculous, I bother Azari, too," Francis said, still cheerfully french braiding Kate's hair. Peter didn't even know how to do a french braid. He wondered, briefly, when and why Francis had learned that particular skill.

"Azari isn't even _here_ half the time," Kate said. Peter could see her roll her eyes, even if Francis couldn't.

"He's here _today_," Francis said. Peter worried, briefly, that they were going to get crap from Dr. Pym for their whispering, but he seemed too into his lecture. He was lost, going in-depth into some of the mechanics of Doom's technology. Robbie and Juston were hanging on his every word. Billy and Teddy were making out in the back of the room.

This was somehow a lot less than what Peter had always envisioned and expected. This felt like…well, like high school, all over again, if the teachers cared a bit less. He didn't know what he had expected exactly. Shiny desks and eager students? Enthusiastic professors? Interesting new material every week? He definitely expected more of what had gone on that morning—great scrimmages and practical training. He knew that was still something they would be getting to—he just hoped it would be better than the classroom. Eventually a bell rang and everyone left before Dr. Pym even dismissed them.

"So what is _up_ with everybody?" Peter asked again as they left.

"Short version? The lifers think the commuters get special treatment, and they've all got sticks up their asses about it," Francis said.

"Lifers? Commuters?" Peter asked, bewildered.

"AKA the Orphans versus the Legacies. You and me and Kate? We're like…to the kids who have to _board_ here, who _live_ here, who take their _normal_ high school classes here, we're like the snooty rich kids whose parents' connections and money got them into an Ivy League school. We're _Legacies_—guaranteed to be Avengers, one day, because our parents are. The other kids? It's not a guarantee. They'll probably be on some B-list team someday, or maybe join the 50-State Initiative, but being on the Avengers based out of New York? It's possible but unlikely. And they _know_ that. They're bitter about it. Understandably, to an extent," Francis explained with a shrug.

"But…why won't they end up on the Avengers one day? They all have powers," Peter said, his eyebrows stuck together in confusion. "Mom and Dad they're not…they're not _that_ nepotistic, are they?"

"A bit," Francis said as they walked through the halls. Peter didn't know where they were going, but Francis and Kate obviously did. "It does factor in. I mean, look at me—I don't even _have_ powers, and I'm here. I shouldn't be, but I am. But really it comes down to the fact that…look, Avengers Academy? It was a joke when I was little. It was what James and I would call it whenever Dad took us to the archery range or Steve took us to the gym to teach us some new fighting style. And then it became a regular thing, and that's what we said we were doing on weekends—we "went to" Avengers Academy. It wasn't really a thing until Stamford. But after—after, the Avengers and SHIELD realized there needed to be an _actual_ training program for powered kids that Xavier wouldn't take so that Stamford would never happen again. So they bought this old school and turned it into the Academy. They took in powered kids and set them up with rooms in the boardinghouse, and they trained us all together. But thing of it is—a lot of these kids were criminals. They don't have the best records, or the best home lives. A lot of them have…pretty gray morality. Not all of them, of course, but…they're not ideal Avengers, even if they're trained to be efficient."

"But that's…" Peter struggled for words.

"Unfair?" Francis suggested. He shrugged. "That's life, I guess."

"But I _know_ these guys," Peter said. "They're—Robbie, Juston, Taki…they're awesome. They're great."

"They're wildcards," Francis argued. "Juston? Attacked his school with the Sentinel. Robbie? Pickpocket and burglar extraordinaire. Taki's clean. And that's pretty much the dynamic of this whole school, let's be honest. Look, I'm not saying it's right, pigeon-holing them. I'm just telling you how things go around here."

"But it's _not_ right," Peter said, brows furrowed. "How can you—how can we—how is this just allowed to keep going?"

"Because it's unofficial," Kate replied. "But things like you being put in our class? It drives it home. It's not—some of these guys _could_ be on the Avengers some day. But they don't think they will be, and honestly? I mean, take this morning. Who got to spar with the Alts? All of us have a parent on the Avengers roster, except for David."

"But…" Peter said helplessly. "How do we _fix_ it?" Francis shrugged.

"You've got any ideas I'm sure the faculty and the rest of us will be open to hearing them," he said. Francis and Kate walked into a new classroom, and Peter followed behind. There were different students in this one, though some of them were the same."What's this class?" Peter asked, still trying to process the information Francis had given him. He had never, in all his years talking with Kate about the Academy, happened upon this deep-seated rivalry. He guessed she'd talked around it on purpose, but he didn't know why.

"Emergency Field Medicine," Kate said, and then she raised an eyebrow. "Are you even CPR certified?"

"Uh," Peter responded. Kate rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. We'll catch you up eventually. Do you at least know the first rule of helping somebody else?" Kate asked.

"Um. Tell someone to call 911 first?" Peter guessed.

"No. And this one's going to be a tough one for you to swallow, Peter, so I want you to listen carefully: _help yourself first_. And if it's not safe to help the other person? You call for somebody else and you ditch them if you have to," Kate said.

"But…that's…"

"Rule Number One," Kate said emphatically, and they took their seats.


	58. A Start

Steve had proposed a gym. A _secret_ gym. Tony wasn't sure how he felt about using a gym as a workspace—so many gyms were just plain _gross_, after all, smelling like old sweat and even less pleasant things—but he couldn't be too picky. Steve had found an old place he used to work out at that had a back room that was out of use. They could have it for their own purposes if they paid a sum. Steve insisted he knew the guy who worked there—though the guy didn't seem to know him, beyond knowing Captain America, or Commander America (did Steve's double call himself Commander America? It sounded too ridiculous; he must not) or whatever—and that the room had been free for his use back in their own universe. He didn't like to work out in the more public facilities anymore; there were too many people gawking at his all-too recognizable mug. Steve, Tony knew, wore a lot of hats. Tony could sympathize.

Somehow, Steve had talked 3490 into going along with this little plan, letting them have their own space to work. Tony knew he'd have to sweep it for bugs every time they went—hard to do, with Antonella's technology—but it could work as a space to start building their own device to get themselves home…if only Tony had any idea where to start.

Dr. Foster was incredibly helpful on that front. She had dozens of ideas, but they lacked certain details. Still, Tony figured they were lucky she'd landed in this universe with them in the first place—she had a much better breadth and depth of knowledge on the subject of space travel than Tony did. Still, they didn't have _enough_ information, and Tony, at least, could use a general primer on the subject anyway. That was how Tony ended up sitting on the bed in Peter's room, occasionally handing him a tool as he worked on something he called a 'web shooter' at his desk. Tony and a guess as to what that meant but also had no clue what that really meant.

"So what are you going to do, pop silly string in there?" Tony asked.

"Do these canisters look big enough for silly string?" Peter asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe you have special, updated-technology-silly-string, how should I know? Everything's weird over here," Tony scoffed defiantly. Peter rolled his eyes and held out his hand.

"Screwdriver," he requested. Tony handed him the one he'd been using earlier from the toolkit on the bed. "It's not silly string."

"Then what is it?" Tony asked.

"Organic webbing," Peter said, matter-of-fact. "Should be stronger than steel, pretty damn sticky, and dissolve after a few hours."

"You—that's—what?" Tony demanded without actually finishing a question. Peter screwed the back onto the shooter, then fit the thing over his wrist. He pressed down on a button in his palm with his middle and index fingers, and white webbing shot out of the device, grabbing onto the opposite wall.

"See?" Peter said, looking damn pleased with himself as well he should. Tony reached out and touched it—it was sticky, but he could pull his hand away. It was definitely strong.

"How did you manage this?" Tony asked, baffled. If the kid was right on the specs, he'd just invented a complex compound out of organic chemistry…in his bedroom. Granted, he had more access to tools and equipment than the average kid, but this was just ridiculous. Peter just shrugged.

"I made something similar last year for the science fair. It was dissolvable, quick dispensing organic bandage, and it stuck to skin and clothes but dissolved within a few hours, like this. It's getting deployed for military use next year. I just made some modifications, and, voila. Stronger than steel. It's like a spider's web—which is what I based the first design on to begin with," Peter said, like it was nothing unusual for a sixteen-year-old boy to invent a revolutionary new compound for the science fair. Tony was no stranger to incredible feats, having managed quite a few himself, but he was still impressed.

"Sometimes the advances your mom has made—and you now, I guess—blow my mind a little, kid," Tony admitted. Peter smiled, and Tony—feeling just a tad guilty and manipulative—decided this was the perfect opportunity to segue to his topic. "Particularly with the whole multi-verse travel thing. We didn't even know there _were_ other universes. I mean, there were theories. Ideas. It's just—amazing to find some of them confirmed, to figure out how it really all works."

"It is pretty cool, huh?" Peter agreed. "There's nothing more beautiful in all creation than science, is what Bruce is always saying."

"Sounds like Bruce," Tony said. "I only wish I understood it better. It's…a bit of a pain, being here, listening to your Mom babble on about the science and not be able to keep up." Antonella, of course, had done no such thing. Her lips were sealed on the topic. But Peter didn't know that. Tony felt a small pang of guilt again.

"I could recommend you some reading, if you'd like," Peter offered. "Loan you a few books. I don't understand it completely myself, but, we've got a better library here than anywhere else on the subject."

"I'd like that, thanks," Tony said. Peter wheeled his desk chair over to his bookcase, grabbed a few books off the shelf, then wheeled back and handed them to Tony.

"I'll e-mail you some PDFs and links, too," he said as he handed the stuff over. He looked innocently excited. "It's a pretty awesome topic."

"Great," Tony said. "I'll make sure to get these back to you when I've finished."

"Take your time," Peter said cheerfully, then returned his attentions to the other web shooter. Tony stood.

"I think I'll just do some reading in the library—good luck with the shooters," Tony said, feeling uncomfortable.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks," Peter replied, already engrossed in his work. It was a familiar scene but felt funny to be on the other end of it. Tony left the room and turned the books over in his hands. It wasn't going to be revolutionary, but it was a start. And a _start_ was usually all Tony Stark ever needed.


	59. Winter is Coming

It had started out normal enough. 3490 Tony and Steve had informed them that Thanksgiving—like, apparently, most holidays—was a team _and_ family affair, and that, Tony and Steve, still living in the home that used to be Avengers Mansion, hosted it every year. It wasn't too different, Steve figured, to the Thanksgiving the MCU Avengers (and yes, damn it, he was using that godawful acronym because it was so much easier than thinking or saying their full universe designation) had planned for this year. 3490 Tony and Steve had of course invited them to join them. They wanted them to get to know the rest of the team, they said. They wanted them to feel welcome, and less like outsiders (even though they were, even though everyone knew they would always be).

The dining room table had somehow been elongated and more chairs and been added than Steve cared to count. Even with all that space, Steve knew that there was an almost equally large table set up in the kitchen that was the 'kids' table'. Kate had put up decorations with the help of 3490 Steve. Steve had almost expected a catering company to bring food to the table—after all, how could they possibly cook for that many people, many with super metabolisms?—but as people filtered in, Steve realized that everyone was tasked with bringing something along, often a multiple of something already there (later, during dinner, the Avengers would good naturally fight over who got to eat Jan's mashed potatoes (infinitely superior to Reed's), or who got a slice of the pumpkin pie that Kate had cooked with her father, which was better than Logan's store-bought contribution).

At first, people turned up who Steve and the other MCU Avengers knew, either in this universe or their own—Bruce arrived with his family with two green bean casseroles, Clint, his wife Bobbie and their several children showed up with an extra turkey and a few sides (one for each kid to carry, except for the littlest girl), Thor and Jane came alone with their daughter Torrun, Rhodey showed up with a chocolate pie because he didn't like pumpkin and knew 3490 Tony wasn't fond of it either, Sam Wilson brought more mashed potatoes and a bad joke, and Pepper, Happy, and their kids brought along a turkey as well. But then other people started showing up. Steve was happy to more formally be introduced to Carol Danvers, Captain Marvel, otherwise known to Steve as the amazing flying woman who saved his and Tony's ass. Reed and Sue Richards Steve didn't know, but Tony seemed to know their counterparts and it didn't appear they were the best of friends. They were part of a team called the 'Fantastic Four' and weren't technically Avengers.

"But we invite them anyway," 3490 Tony and said, teasing them about it.

A dozen other names and faces passed by Steve as everyone arrived for the meal—Henry Pym and Janet Van dyne (who Tony once again appeared to know the doubles of), Luke Cage and Jessica Jones, Storm and T'Challa, Ben Grimm, Johnny Storm, Henry McCoy. Steve had no idea how he was supposed to remember all of them. A woman named Wanda arrived with her husband Vision, a floating sentient robot apparently from the future, and their two children, and that one really threw Steve for a loop, but he decided to ignore it and ask another day.

He would hardly remember, however, to ask about the magician woman and her robot husband, as shortly after them the last arrivals came in through the door—Natasha, and a man who was unmistakably Bucky Barnes.

Steve's world disappeared in the moment that he spotted him. The happy chatter of the room around him was drowned out by this singular realization. James Buchanan Barnes of 3490 was alive and well. He smiled at friends and said hello as they fussed over him and Natasha and suggestively teased them for being late—what had been the cause? He greeted 3490 Steve with a warm hug and a hello. He had a metal arm.

"You ok, Cap?" Tony asked. "You're catching flies and getting all glassy eyed." Steve blinked, suddenly drawn back to the real world. He shut his mouth, which _was _slightly open.

"I—" he said, but that was all that he could manage. He _wasn't_ ok. He was—well he didn't know. But _ok_ was not one of the things that he was. Natasha and Bucky moved through the crowd to greet the 3490 Avengers as all the guests had done thus far.

"You must be the new alternates," Bucky spoke. It really was his voice, the same voice Steve remembered, and it tore into his gut. "It's nice to meet you. I'm James Barnes—Winter Soldier, around here, or just plain Bucky."

"How?" Steve couldn't help but ask. "How are you _alive_?" Even if things didn't go down the same way here in 3490 back in the 40s, Steve did know one thing—Bucky should not be alive. But he was. He _was_. Bucky regarded him curiously for a moment, and then his eyes filled with sympathy.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I should have thought about—they said you all only had six Avengers back in your world, but I didn't think about—you know, Steve, it's a long story," Bucky said, stumbling over himself. There was something different about him. Of course there would be—they were separated by universes and by years and years of age—but Steve felt like it was something _fundamentally_ different. Bucky seemed darker somehow. Like a shadow was cast over him. "It's not really—it's not really a story for Thanksgiving. Some other time, yeah?"

"I'd like to hear that story, too," Natasha spoke up. Steve didn't understand why—perhaps, he thought, it was because 3490 Natasha and Bucky appeared to be together in this universe and she was curious. Steve supposed that made sense. Bucky just looked at her and nodded, and then 3490 Natasha curled an arm around his bicep and gently tugged him off towards their seats at the table.

Numbly, Steve took his seat as well.


	60. Thankful

It had been a long time since James had seen this many Avengers in the same place. More importantly, it had been a _very _long time since he'd seen the kids he'd grown up with. He didn't mind that he was still relegated to the kid's table at 22; he was just glad to see everyone. Besides, even Benjamin Banner, who was twenty-four, was still at the kid's table sitting next to him. He and Ben just ended up being the ones carving the turkey and putting food on plates passed up to them.

Ben was a nice guy, though James admittedly didn't know him very well. He wasn't powered, though he was a massive science geek. He knew that Peter and he were fairly close as 'cousins'. James figured they had plenty to geek out about. James was better friends with Francis, Azari, and Torrun, who had all attended Avengers Academy with him on weekends when he was at NYMA. James would have been there even more often, but he was breaking the rules just to be there _then_. NYMA had very strict rules and regulations, as should be expected from a military school. Still, his dad was his dad, so James got to attend Avengers Academy every Saturday all through high school, where he sat in class with Francis, Azari, Torrun and others. He'd spent several weekends there during college as well, but that had been more recreational, checking in on the gang. But as he got busy with graduation, and then with the military itself, he hadn't had a chance to drop by. He hadn't seen Torrun or Azari in months, and they sat to his left, Torrun insistently taking the space right next to him. She and a couple of others helped him and Ben with filling the younger kids' plates. Finally, after what felt like dozens of plates had gone by (there couldn't have been dozens, there were only twenty of them at the table in the first place, but James was a bit prone to hyperbole), the last plate was filled. Of course, no one had touched their meal yet. James looked at Ben, the oldest at the table, but his face went a bit red.

"Could you?" he asked. James just nodded.

"All right everybody—it's good to see you all again, well and happy and together. That's one of the many things we have to be thankful for today. And seeing as it's Thanksgiving—well, you all know the drill. We're going to go around before we eat and everybody's going to say something they're thankful for. Be quick about it or the food's going to go cold, yeah?" James said, earning a few chuckles. "All right. I'm thankful to be here, with everyone at this table, for one more year because every year—and every day—is a gift. Ben?" Ben smiled and gave his answer—he was thankful for his dissertation supervisor, who was looking over his project every step of the way and helping him through it. They made their way down the table. Most of the older kids had an answer prepared and were quick about it, but no one begrudged little Nicole Barton, only four years old, as she blushed and said a lot of 'ums' and took a while as Kate, sitting next to her, tried to prompt her and help her through it. Finally they finished up with Torrun, who was grateful for the good health and safety of all of Asgard, her other home. When James announced, "Dig in!" no one hesitated. Well, no one but Torrun, who twirled her fork in the mashed potatoes but didn't take a bite.

"Something wrong?" James asked her as soon as he'd swallowed his bite of turkey.

"No, just—thinking," Torrun said. She smiled at him. "It's good to see you again." James smiled back.

"Ditto," he replied, and returned to his meal. He watched Torrun out of the corner of his eye. She took a few bites, but ate slowly and not much. It really wasn't like her. She usually had an appetite to rival James'. James put down his fork.

"Torrun. You sure you're ok?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said, but there was a little crease between her eyes. She stabbed a bit of turkey with her fork. "Francis told me you're going overseas in January."

"Yeah," James said with a shrug, still worried about her. He was concerned that she was changing the subject. Torrun generally faced her problems head on. "That's par for the course for the military."

"He said you're going to the most dangerous part of Afghanistan," Torrun said. "He said you _volunteered_."

"Well, yeah," James said. "That's where I can do the most good." Torrun just stared at him, then shook her head.

"Sometimes I forget you're Captain America's kid," she said. "You're _mortal_. And you're just going to walk right into the worst spot to be."

"Plenty of normal guys do it every day," James said evenly. He wondered, for a moment, if this was why Torrun was upset. Was she upset he was leaving? It seemed odd, since they hadn't seen each other regularly since Torrun was just in middle school. "I've got no right to do anything less than them."

"Hm," Torrun said. She took a bite of turkey, not answering him for a minute. "This could be your last Thanksgiving." James grinned and raised his eyebrows.

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Torrun, I really appreciate it," he teased her.

"I'm just saying you should really stuff your face today," she said with an answering smile, but it faded quickly. So did James'.

"Torrun. Hey. I didn't mean to upset you," James said uncertainly. She shook her head.

"It's not you," she admitted. "You'll be fine. You've been training for this since forever. There are always unforeseen scenarios but—I think you'll be fine. It's more… I really wonder. I wonder if I would be as brave as you if it was so easy for me to die. I can smite the mightiest of villains with the greatest of ease—but would I do so in your position?" James just laughed and Torrun frowned at him, looking outraged and indignant.

"Torrun. _Torrun_. Why is that even a question? You're one of the bravest and _scariest_ girls I've ever met," he said as her expression slowly cleared of anger. "Besides, somebody takes off your head with an axe? I don't think you're coming back from that. You have just as much to risk when you step in the field, even if you're a little harder to take down. Mortal, immortal—I've no doubt you'd be just as stupidly reckless and brave either way." Then he smirked. "Well, ok, maybe you wouldn't actively get in the way of explosions quite as often, but you know what I mean." Torrun just smiled in response, then went back to her dinner with much more enthusiasm. James did the same—his green bean casserole was going to get cold and he could _not _have that.

They chatted a bit more through dinner. Torrun caught him up on all the gossip at the Academy and James told her all about his unit. By the time they got to dessert, Torrun had appeared to have completely regained her appetite—or perhaps she just had a massive sweet tooth—as she indulged in two slices of pie, one pumpkin, one chocolate. James had two as well, both pumpkin. He couldn't resist, and his super metabolism meant that he didn't have to. Thank goodness for that.

"Hey James?" Torrun said as he took his last bite of pie.

"Hm?" he asked, his mouth still full.

"If you're still alive this time next year," she said, "I'll be thankful to get to clobber you in battle once more."

"Thanks, Torrun."


	61. Snowfall

Stark mansion had beautiful gardens. The best part about the gardens, though, was that they were at the moment empty. There were no people whatsoever. There was no Tony chatting animatedly with Clint, no Thor and Jane speaking softly to one another on the couch, no Bruce or Pepper or Natasha reading, no Peter watching television whilst hanging upside down from the ceiling just because he could now, no Kate rushing about getting ready for ballet or archery or any one of the number of things that girl did in her free time. It was just Steve and nature and nothing else. Well, not _nothing_ else. He supposed there were probably eyes on him at all times. Or at least he likely had a chip somewhere in his body or bloodstream that was tracking his every movement and that bothered Steve in ways he hadn't found a way to voice yet. But there wasn't any _person_ actively outside, and Steve, for the moment, found that he could _breathe_.

Of course, part of the reason why there was no one in the garden had to be the fact that it was horribly cold outside. Steve hated the cold. Everyone knew that he hated the cold. He didn't feel it quite as much as others did, because he ran a little hot anyway, but whenever the Avengers had to go on a mission to any northern country in the winter time Steve wore several layers of long johns, the warmest coat he had, and bright blue earmuffs with a single white star sewn on either side which Tony had bought for him as a joke. He usually ended up sweating and hot by the end of the day, but he didn't care. He'd rather feel like he was running through the desert than about to freeze to death. Or not to death as the case might be.

As it stood, he was in a coat that kept him warm enough, though he'd foregone gloves; he hated drawing with gloves on, and that was what he planned to do. He took a seat on a decorative stone bench and flipped the page in his sketchbook to a fresh one. He already knew what he was going to sketch, and it had nothing to do with the garden he was in. He started to sketch his best friend, as he remembered him. He was still in shock, despite the fact that it was Tuesday and 3490 Bucky had given him and Natasha the run down on Saturday. It was obvious he had been intensely uncomfortable. 3490 Steve sat with him, occasionally filling in when Bucky found it difficult to go on.

He'd survived the fall from the train, a result of Arnim Zola's experiments. He'd been found by the Russians and turned into a weapon, fitted with a metal arm to replace the one he had lost. He had been brainwashed and reprogramed, his memories wiped time and time again. Eventually, he'd ended up going head to head with 3490 Steve, who found a way to restore his memories. But, as Bucky had painfully explained, it had been a very rough road. Steve was filled with empathetic pain enough for 3490 Bucky, but the Natasha of his own universe gave him the worst pains—she _knew_ Bucky. She was surprised he was still alive. She had lost track of him years ago, she said.

Which meant that Bucky, in _their_ universe, might still by cryogenically frozen somewhere, his mind wiped and his body used by evil people for horrible, evil things that Bucky would never do in his right mind. And Steve just—he didn't know what to do with that information. It was his fault. _His_. It was his fault he'd fallen from that train in the first place, and then, to find out that, had they searched for a body, they might have found him _still alive_—

Steve couldn't breathe as he thought about it, his chest was so filled with pain. He wanted nothing more than to get back to his universe, to tear the whole world apart looking for his friend. He didn't feel like he'd ever be whole without him, not now that he knew there was a chance that he was still out there, that he needed _saving_.

"I like these too." Steve was startled as 3490 Tony took a seat on the bench next to him. It took him several moments before he even realized what she was talking about. Her gaze was on the shrub directly in front of them. It still had pretty pink flowers, despite the temperature.

"Oh," Steve spoke, suddenly flustered by the interruption, "I wasn't really—"

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" 3490 Tony continued as if he hadn't spoken. She reached out and touched a single white petal, but did not pluck a flower from the plant. "They're Camellias. This one is Camellia Sasanqua. It's nicknamed the Yuletide Camellia since it blooms so early. Still, this is early even for it. Did you know you can use the leaves to make tea? Bruce does, sometimes."

"They're lovely," Steve eventually agreed, politely. He didn't know how to tell her that he would rather she left, didn't know how to tell her he just wanted to be alone.

"They're more than lovely. They're _hardy_. A little Long Island winter won't get them down. I've always liked Snowdrops for that reason too—we have a patch here in the garden of those, over there. Just when you expect the snow and the frost to kill everything here, you find those little snowdrops popping up, against all odds," 3490 Tony said.

"I—I'm not drawing the flowers," Steve said. Hopefully she would take the hint. _I came out here to be alone_. She just turned to him a single eyebrow raised.

"I'm well aware," she said, then looked back at the plant. "Bucky, right?" Instead of answering, Steve just tipped the sketchbook so she could see. "Hm. You know, we've never really gotten along. It's an endless source of Steve's headaches. We _respect_ each other, sure, but, beyond that." 3490 Tony shrugged. "He's hardy though, too. I'll give the guy that."

"Is this the part where you tell me that the flowers are a metaphor for coming through hard times stronger and more beautiful than ever?" Steve asked dryly. Tony snorted.

"No. Bucky's not a beautiful flower, he's a stubborn ass like you," 3490 Tony said, a smile playing on her lips. "I'm much more partial to Camellias than Bucky Barnes. No, this is the part where I tell you maybe you should be sketching the beautiful flowers instead of ghosts." Steve looked down at his sketchbook. He felt 3490 Tony's hand on his arm, and he met her gaze. "Steve. Sometimes we just have to accept the things we cannot change. And I know for a fact Bucky wouldn't want you wallowing over everything that has happened to him. He wouldn't want you blaming yourself. When we get you back to your universe you can go hunt for him—but that's the best you can hope for, right now. It's not going to do you any good to dwell on it." Tony rose, drawing her jacket around herself tighter. "Don't freeze to death while you're out here. I'm not sure the universe could take the irony." She shot him a final, soft, sweet smile, and Steve felt his heart jerk. She exited the garden while Steve just sat there, staring at the flowers and swallowing the lump in his throat.

3490 Tony might want him to focus on the present, not the past, but as he thought of her soothing smile, Steve thought that maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all.


	62. Trust

"So how's it going, anyway?" Steve asked Tony. Steve took a long drink from his water bottle. His hands were still wrapped in white tape. He, of course, actually took the time at the gym to _exercise_. He was glistening with sweat, and Tony did mean _glistening_, Jesus, how did he make sweaty and gross look _hot_? His tank top was far too tight on his body, and Tony had to wonder if he always wore those on purpose. Tony grunted in response. He was working on the plans he had by _hand_. Peter had gotten him several books on multiverse theory, but there were plenty of things that _weren't_ in published papers, lest the general public tried to jump ship and accidentally destroy the multiverse itself.

"It would be better if I weren't missing half of what I need," he said, "and having to thus start from scratch." Tony rubbed his forehead. "Dr. Foster has made a lot of headway but I can't focus on the technical side of things until I know what universal equations we're working with. So I have to help her on that before we can really get to _my_ speciality and—this is just…such a complex mess." Steve capped his water bottle, coming over to the table. He put a hand on the table near Tony's and leaned over, looking at everything. "Got something to contribute, Capsicle?"

"No, of course not," Steve said, but he continued to look at the plans with concentration on his face. "Just trying to figure out how in the hell you follow any of this."

"Big genius brain," Tony grumbled, still unhappy about the lack of progress. He wondered if he could convince Peter to steal some files from his mother for him. Surely, _surely_ they at least had some of this information on a database somewhere that could then be printed off?

"So if we don't have the technical basis down, what's that over there? What have you started building?" Steve asked, indicating the bunch of metal scraps and circuits and wires in the corner, some of which had been cobbled into the semi-recognizable shape of an archway.

"It's a gateway between worlds. Or, it will be. I saw it in Antonella's private lab at SI. I only got a quick look, but it was enough to get the basic structure of the thing—problem is, I don't know _specifics_. I can build the basics, but I don't know how it goes from 'blasting a hole in the universe' to 'blasting a very specific hole from this universe to the next one in a manner that does not rip them both in half'," Tony said. His mouth turned down in a grimace. "The more I work on it, the more impossible it seems, to be honest. I almost wonder if they're not just stringing us along with promises that will never come true." Steve took a seat next to him at the table, drawing up a stool.

"I don't think so," he said, looking contemplative. "Antonella doesn't seem the type to me, to be that manipulative." It was odd, the way he said Antonella, the way his expression looked thoughtful and also _fond_. Tony felt a sting—Steve liked his double better than him.

Well, Tony thought bitterly, it was pretty unsurprising. Antonella was _better_ than him in a hundred different ways. She had better tech, she was more responsible, she was less irritable, more predictable, mood-wise… She was, overall, an easier person to get along with. But still, it hit him like a slap that his own teammates all preferred her. For some reason, it hurt him most of all that _Steve_ did. And wasn't that just ridiculous? They had never really gotten along in the first place—why was it surprising?

"She's the type to slip us all trackers in our food or in our sleep," Tony said, annoyed.

"Maybe," Steve agreed. "We're not sure about that, yet. But I don't think she'd lie to us about something like that."

"You don't even know her!" Tony said, exasperated.

"I know _you_," Steve said, and that brought Tony up short. Steve smiled at him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know _you_, Tony. And I know that _you_ wouldn't lie to us like that, no matter the circumstances. Slip us all trackers? Maybe, yeah. I mean, the first time you met Bruce you poked him with a little rod with an electrical shock to see what would happen—"

"I _knew_ what would happen—"

"—you're not exactly the paragon of ethical practices. But I think you have good intentions at heart, Tony. I don't think your double's any different," Steve said. His smile was so genuine and earnest, and his eyes were focused entirely on Tony. It was a bit overwhelming.

"You—you trust Antonella because you trust me?" Tony asked, almost not daring to voice the thought.

"Partly, yes," Steve said, removing his hand. "Partly because of everything I've observed from her. She's been—she's been very kind to me. Kind to all of us, really. And I do think my double had a point—they could have locked us up, Tony. They could've thrown us in jail, but instead they invited us home. That has to count for something."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Tony replied cynically, but he had to admit that Steve's trust was winning him over. Steve turned that smile onto him again and Tony's heart did a flip and _woah shit _where did _that_ come from?

"If they're treating us as enemies," Steve said, "at least they're quite hospitable about it." Tony let out a laugh, but internally his heart had begun to race in panic. Steve was looking at him, all his attention focused on _Tony_. And Steve was so _good_, and Steve was so _handsome_, and Steve and he were _married_ in another universe, _this_ universe and—Tony wasn't sure he could keep up with these emotions. He broke their eye contact and returned to looking at his plans.

"If you're uh—if you're done we should probably be heading back soon. Can't spend hours here or they'll get suspicious," Tony said.

"Oh," Steve said, blinking a bit. "Right. I mean, I am a super soldier, I could really spend all day in here—that could be believable."

"But _I'm_ not," Tony pointed out. "Can't be sparring with me all that time, so there's only two other explanations and I'd rather them not happen upon either one of them." Steve blinked.

"Two?" he asked innocently. Tony raised an eyebrow until Steve turned red.

"There, now you've got it," Tony said, rolling his eyes. He packed up the papers and materials and stuffed them in one of the old metal filing cabinets. By the time he'd turned back around, Steve had composed himself once more. Tony was impressed. He looked, though, like he was holding back a laugh. Tony was almost offended. "_What_?"

"Well, you know, it wouldn't be a bad explanation," Steve said, grinning. "And then you could get _all_ the time you needed down here—really, I see no downsides—"

"Who _are_ you and what have you done with Steve Rogers?" Tony demanded, rolling his eyes too as Steve got up from his seat and grabbed his bag.

"I'm just _saying_, it's not a half bad idea, really," Steve said, still practically giggling. Tony just grinned back, shaking his head, but he felt his chest clench painfully. It was all a great joke. A great _joke_. And Tony wasn't really sure how he felt about it, unsurprising as it was. Still, as they left the gym, Tony was just happy to see that smile on Steve's face, and know he was the one who put it there.

And oh, he was getting himself into trouble. He was getting himself into a _lot_ of trouble.


	63. The Secret Garden

Steve didn't know how to interpret what he was feeling. Everything just seemed so _confused_. They had been staying at the mansion with the Stark Rogers family for seven weeks now, with no real word on when they would be leaving. That didn't bother Steve as much as it should have. What bothered Steve was that he couldn't seem to get her out of his head.

He wished that he could. He would do anything to put Peggy back into his mind, but that was gone. He had grieved for the loss of what could have been before he had ever come to this universe, had come to terms with what happened between them as best as he could. He was dealing with it. But then he shows up in another universe and _she's_ there, and she's _perfect_ in every way, and how could Steve _not_ think about her? He'd married her, after all. Well, _he _hadn't, though he sorely wished he had. It was difficult, nursing jealousy against himself.

He did what he could not to think about her. On Tuesday he had gotten wise to his own emotions and started avoiding the woman. She was married. _To him_. There was nowhere that Steve's feelings could go that led to happiness for _anyone_. So he did his best to stay away from her. But that didn't change the fact that she was in his head, that soft black curls clouded his vision and he couldn't stop drawing brown eyes. Steve had never felt so conflicted. She was _Tony_. Steve already _knew_ Tony. He didn't always come to a wholly favorable opinion of the man. Yet here he was, having complicated feelings for a woman who was only just a little different from the man he knew. It was exceedingly confusing.

In order to regain some semblance of control in his life, Steve decided to take a walk one evening out on the grounds. The grounds were beautiful, all perfectly well kept. There were patches of flowers and an area of carefully tended woods. The lawn was perfectly manicured and everything was taken care of with precision. Yet Steve never saw anyone actually _go_ outside, actually take a stroll and look at the plants, so that was exactly what Steve intended to do.

For fifteen minutes he drew a particularly stunning lily located at the front of the property. He spent another half an hour sketching a rosebush as he wandered further back. Finally he reached the wooded area and continued his walk, taking detours off the paths to look at specific trees. He was just getting ready to sketch an interesting birch tree with knots that made it appear to have a face, when there was a sharp gasp below him. He looked down, startled by the noise. Seated near his feet, leaning against the base of a tree, was Kate Rogers, smoking a joint, peering up at him with wide blue eyes. He was surprised he hadn't noticed the smell beforehand—it was definitely not tobacco.

"Shit fuck," Kate said, running the two words together as one. "You're not going to tell my parents are you? Oh, the fuck am I saying—of _course_ you're going to tell my parents, you're Captain America. Fuck." Steve could do nothing but stare for a moment as she took another drag on the joint. He hadn't seen much of Kate Rogers, though her brother Peter had certainly been quite visible in the mansion. Perhaps this explained why. Steve took a seat by a tree to Kate's left, using the trunk to support his back as Kate was doing.

"Well?" Kate asked. Steve looked over, startled, before remembering that there had indeed been a question in there.

"Well," Steve said slowly, considering, "No. I don't think it's really any of my business, little miss." Kate cocked her head to one side.

"Ok, A) thanks, that's unexpectedly cool of you, and B) if you call me 'little miss' ever again I will hand your balls to you on a silver platter, Captain America or no," Kate said. There was a deadly serious look on her face, and Steve decided not to ever call her bluff on the off chance that it was _not_ a bluff. "Seriously, I'm barely ten years younger than you if you're discounting the whole nap on the ice shit." Steve realized with a start that she was right. He realized with an even greater start that he was far closer in age to Kate than he was to either of her parents. It was an odd and disturbing thing to feel. Kate took another hit on the joint, then held it to him as an offering.

"Want a hit?" Kate asked. Steve shook his head.

"No, thank you," he said, arranging his sketchbook in his lap and pulling his charcoal pencil from his pocket. Kate just shrugged.

"Ok, but I can guarantee even though you can't get drunk you can still get high," Kate pointed out before drawing another. Steve began his sketch of the tree, trying to feign some disinterest in the girl. She reminded him solidly of his own universe's Tony, and if there was anything Tony hated more than being handed things, it was serious conversation. So he decided he must pretend not to care, at least a little bit, and maybe she wouldn't notice that she was having a serious conversation.

"Is that why you smoke?" he asked while sketching in the basic outline of the birch tree. "To get as close to drunk as you can?" Steve could see Kate shrug out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, I guess that's part of it, sometimes," she said. "But smoking's just relaxing. I can't deal with _them_ right now." She jerked her head towards the house. "They're just so…." She sighed, unable to find the descriptor she was looking for. "Mom's a perfectionist. Dad's got expectations so big I'm pretty sure God is thinking of striking them down like the tower of Babel lest they _actually_ reach the heavens. And Peter—well, Peter's a dork, but he's perfect to them, you know? He hasn't got powers so there's no expectation for him to do something good with them. Well, he _didn't_ anyway, and they still haven't caught up yet. And he's a fucking genius like Mom, and he _does_ stuff with that genius. I mean, he's helped her on important projects, made some of his own. Stuff that will actually impact the world, make a difference. Dad just _loves _him, because Peter's so scrawny and dorky and artistic, but he's still made such an impact on the world already. He's so fucking proud." She laughed and shook her head. Steve just let her talk, continuing his sketch, afraid that to say anything would break the moment. She would realize any minute who she was talking to and stop speaking, he was sure, and he wanted to delay that as long as possible. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Dad absolutely adores me. But I haven't done anything to _deserve_ it. And one day, he's going to wake up and realize it." Kate drew in another hit. She looked over at him, an eyebrow raised.

"The fuck are you sketching, anyway?" she asked. He looked up at her, a bit startled by the question. He nodded to the tree.

"The tree with the face," he said. Kate looked where he was, then squinted.

"Oh. Huh. Never really noticed that before," she said. "That's why you came down to the garden, then? To sketch?" Steve nodded.

"It…relaxes me," he said wryly. Kate laughed.

"Well, kudos to you then, for getting your relaxants drug free," she said. She went quiet. "Dad sketches too. He has a whole room in the mansion filled with drawings and comics and paintings and even a little glass blowing—his first wife, Bernie, that's what she did. Some of Peter's stuff is in there, too. It's beautiful. There's one Dad did of Mom—well, ok, there's probably like several thousand he's done of Mom, but there's _one_ in particular—and it's of her holding me as a baby. And he makes her look beatific—there's just like, this _glow_, everywhere. But it doesn't seem painted on, it's like it comes from Mom herself. And all she's doing is smiling down at me, and I know it's me because I had black hair as a baby and Peter didn't have any. And sometimes I just wish like hell that she'd look at me the way she looked at me in that painting. Because God knows she never has." She drew another hit.

"I know my mother loves me," Kate said. "I just wish she could be proud of me, too." Kate went quiet. Steve didn't know what to say, or if he should say anything at all. It was difficult, having your teenage daughter who isn't your daughter bare her soul to you. She turned and looked at him after a few silent moments had passed. "You know what, thank you."

"For what?" Steve asked. He hadn't done a thing. He hadn't given a single useful piece of advice. He'd just sat there.

"For listening. For not telling me you're sure my mother's proud when you don't even know her. For not feeding me the same bullshit everybody else does. Because they're not really _listening_," she said. She stood up, brushing herself off. "My joint's dead. And I have ballet in an hour anyway so I should probably get ready. But thanks. Good luck with your, uh, tree." She turned to walk away, then paused, and spun around. She didn't say anything.

"Forget something?" Steve prompted gently.

"Yeah," Kate said, looking at him seriously. "Yeah. Don't fall in love with her." Steve felt ice settle in his veins. He stared at her openly. _How does she know_? Kate just gave him a sardonic look in response to his gob smacked expression. "Oh, come on, like everyone doesn't see you staring after her with little lost puppy dog eyes. So you're probably already in love with her or halfway there and my advice is worth shit, but seriously. Don't fall in love with her. There's no way that ends well for you. I mean, she's probably one of the very few women who doesn't actually exist in your universe. Well, she does, but she's got a dick. And maybe a thing with Pepper? I can't tell. Which I think is the weirdest part in all of this whole alternate universe thing because I can't imagine how Pepper could possibly stand Mom both at work and at home. I mean Dad manages but that's because he's a saint and also because they speak in the language of bickering anyway, but I don't know how poor sweet _Pepper_ would do it." Kate shook her head.

"Anyway, my point is don't fall in love with my mother. That's just going to lead to heartbreak for you. Again. My advice—find your universe's Bernie when you get back. I think it would have worked out with my dad and her, had Mom been out of the picture," Kate advised. Then she paused, regarded Steve thoughtfully for a moment, and continued, hesitantly, "Or. You know. You _do_ have your own Tony after all." Then Kate finally turned and left the little forest, heading back to the mansion. Steve found himself feeling stricken, like her last, ginger words had been a jolt to his system, and he aggressively beat them away. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what had happened between Steve Rogers, Bernie Rosenthal, and Tony Stark, but he didn't really want to ask. It seemed like a bad subject to touch, one the household tried to sweep under the rug as much as possible. So Steve turned back to his tree and sketched, with no idea how to help matters and a sickening pit opening up in his stomach, threatening to drown him in his own muddled emotions.


	64. Cruelty

_Six Months Ago_

"Hey, Rogers," Jeanne Foucault shouted at her. The rest of the class was gone. Jeanne still stood on the mat in the center of the room, the blood from her nose already drying above her lip. Kate just kept stuffing her equipment in her duffel bag. "Hey, _Rogers_. I'm _talking_ to you." Kate bit back a sigh. She flicked her eyes back upwards.

"What do you want, Foucault?" Kate asked.

"A _rematch_," Jeanne challenged. Kate hadn't known Jeanne for long. She had only joined the Academy three years ago, and only just moved up to the Advanced class a few weeks earlier. But she knew Jeanne well enough to know that the girl could not take the idea that anyone could be more skilled than her at something. Her superhero nickname was _Finesse_, and it was fitting—Jeanne could learn to do _anything_. She had been a child prodigy a million times over. She had graduated MIT at 14 the same as Kate's mother had. Before she came to Avengers Academy, she had been training for the Olympics. She played the cello better than Kate did—as well as the piano, violin, viola, double bass, harp, flute, and probably a half dozen other instruments that Kate was unaware of. She spoke about sixteen languages fluently. She was an expert in anything and everything, and it grated on Kate, but she'd still managed to pull one over on her in their sparring session, using moves Jeanne had never seen her use before and ignoring several of her instincts in order to be unpredictable. Kate couldn't tell if Jeanne was pissed off or not. Jeanne never seemed to have any emotions at all. But Kate knew that she was, at the least, determined to beat Kate.

"Why?" Kate asked. "Class is over." She slung the strap of her purple duffel over her shoulder and stood up.

"You won't beat me a second time. I see you understand that," Jeanne said, nodding, looking _satisfied_. That burned Kate up.

"I beat you once, I can beat you again," Kate said coolly. "It's just not worth my time. Unlike you, I have a life outside here." Ok. Kate could admit that last part was a bit mean. Jeanne might have rich parents to go home to if she chose, but Kate knew she would probably always be on a watch list for some of her past activities. After three years at the Academy, she could of course go back to a normal high school, but she wouldn't _know_ anyone. Her friends (though, really, did Jeanne _have_ any friends? Kate didn't know; the other girl was regarded as cold and emotionless by practically everyone) were all at the Academy. It was probably a bit of a low blow, to throw it in her face, but Jeanne irritated her in a way that none of the other students ever did. Kate started to walk away, but her legs were kicked out from under her, and she fell on the hard concrete floor of the gym directly on her tailbone. She gasped in pain and only had just enough presence of mind to roll away as Jeanne leveled a kick to her face. Kate nearly got snagged on her own duffel bag as she escaped, but the strap fell away from her.

"What the _hell_," Kate yelled as Jeanne slowly approached her again. Kate got to her feet.

"Well _asking_ was ineffective," Jeanne said, and Kate figured this girl really had some serious issues to work out. She came at her again, but this time Kate was ready. She stepped aside, grabbing one of Jeanne's arms and wrenching it behind her. Kate heard a _crack_ and Jeanne shouted. If Jeanne wasn't going to play by the rules of sparring, then neither was Kate. Jeanne got out of her hold and managed to slam Kate back into the ground, sending tears to her eyes as pain lanced through her body. Bruised or fractured, her tailbone hurt like a bitch. Yet while Kate was in great pain, she managed to reposition them; the fact that Jeanne's right arm was useless helped. Kate used her feet to kick Jeanne in the stomach, getting the other girl off of her with a satisfying "_oof_".

"You're a fucking _ass_," Kate said, breathless. Jeanne just regarded her with that same calculating expression that she always did, and it sent shivers up her spine.

"Is that meant to hurt me?"

"No, it's a statement of fact. You are an _ass_," Kate said, getting up again, breathing heavily and wincing with every move.

"And what are you, Kate Rogers?" Jeanne asked.

"What?"

"If I'm an ass, what are you?" she asked simply. "The innocent victim of this circumstance? A normal girl, being put upon? A star pupil, who has risen through the ranks on all her own merits?"

"Your classmate," Kate answered flatly. She walked to her duffel bag and picked it up off the floor, never taking her eyes off the other girl.

"Really? Because all I see is a poor imitation of your parents," Jeanne said. She said it as she said everything else—factually. "You haven't even graduated _high school_ yet. You're not an inventor. You're not an artist. You're a fighter—and the only reason you're any good at that in the first place is your father's super-strength. Genetics. What are you without them? Who _are_ you, Kate Rogers? What are you even worth, all on your own?" Kate dropped the duffel. Jeanne wanted a rematch? She would get it.

Jeanne was surprisingly effective even without her right arm. Kate was less so, slowed down by the fact that, if she moved in just the wrong way, pain would shoot all through her body, starting at that injured tailbone. Kate was slow, but Jeanne couldn't pin her down. She landed a few kicks, one to Kate's stomach that was so hard Kate thought she might vomit right then and there. Jeanne was an unpredictable but calculating opponent. It took everything Kate had to stay a step ahead amidst the kicks and punches and dodges.

"Round Two and you can't pin me," Jeanne said. "You're a talented fighter Kate. But you lack the killer instinct." Jeanne said, just as she elbowed Kate in the back. Kate screamed in pain and fury. She had had enough. She turned and grabbed Jeanne's broken arm, spinning to twist it behind her back. Jeanne couldn't help but give a shout of her own, and Kate kicked the back of her shins. Jeanne fell to her knees, laughing.

"Think you have me, Katie-Kate?" she asked, using Clint's nickname for her, and something inside Kate snapped. Kate's nose was bleeding—broken, if she had to guess. Her tailbone was too, if she had to guess, and even standing hurt like crazy. Her lower body felt like it was on fire. Kate pressed her knee into Jeanne's back hard until the other girl slammed the rest of the way to the floor.

"There's your rematch," Kate snarled. "I won." Bruising was already beginning to form around Jeanne's eye where Kate had sucker punched her earlier, but the other girl just smiled blandly.

"Are you certain about that?" she asked.

And, in that moment, Kate realized where she was and what she was really doing. She had a girl pinned beneath her, twisting her already broken arm behind her back in what must have felt like a torturous position. The other girl's face was beginning to swell. Jeanne did not have super strength or speed or healing. Kate dropped her arm like it was a hot iron and stumbled backward, letting her up. Jeanne stood, wobbling a bit, but her stare was impassive. Satisfied. Kate realized that Jeanne had never wanted a rematch at all. She had wanted this. Even in defeat, she had gotten what she wanted.

"I guess that answers that question," Jeanne said as Kate's stomach turned, and not just with pain.

Later, security footage would prove that it was, indeed, Kate who had been attacked first. Jeanne didn't even bother to deny it. Kate got off with a stern warning from Dr. Pym, a long, _long_ lecture from Mom and Dad, and grounding from anything fun at all for a month. She was also instructed to apologize to Jeanne for having used unnecessary force and abused her powers. Kate thought that was a bit of a cruel joke; Jeanne had gotten what she wanted, and Kate was going to have to apologize for it on top of that. But she went along with her punishments quietly, because she knew that she deserved it.

Kate began a list that day, of all the things she had achieved without her abilities, without her parents, of all the traits she could claim as her own. The first, and only thing, on the list was '_cruelty'_.


	65. Field Failings

"I _had it_, Cap," Tony snapped over the comms as he flew overhead.

"And I already took care of it," Steve replied over the system as well. They were fighting Doombots. Considering that they were villainous robots that 199999 had fought before—and that it was rather difficult to screw up cleaning up Doombots—the 3490 Avengers had given them the task of cleaning up the streets of Doombots while they went after the real villains. Doombots were, as usual, just a distraction. But they were a pretty _annoying_ distraction. "Keep your eyes in the sky, Iron Man, that's where we need you; we've got the ground covered."

"But the ground is _where the doombots are_, I haven't seen a single one of these things pick up and start flying away," Tony argued. Steve ripped into the guts of another doombot, pulling out wires and circuitry as the thing fizzled and sparked.

"But we know that they _can_. I need you on aerial support; keep your eyes in the _sky_ Iron Man; we've got the ground," Cap insisted firmly.

"I can keep my eyes on the sky and still take out Doombots on the ground," Tony disagreed. He flew back and forth over the street, keeping a lazy watch over his teammates. Black Widow was using her widow's bite to take down a doombot. Thor called lightning down from the heavens to strike, but the bot moved out of the way. Clint was handy with his arrows, especially the EMP arrows—Tony just had to make sure to keep his distance from those. Cap was taking down bots with his shield and his bare hands. But Tony was relegated to Lookout. Tony grunted in displeasure and landed anyway, taking out a bot with a solid repulsor blast.

"Iron Man!" Cap chastised him. "Thor—please keep a lookout up there—Stark what are you _doing_?"

"Action's down here, Capsicle," Tony said.

Of course, Tony should have known that he would speak too soon. Just a few minutes later all of the doombots that were still on the ground began to rise, flying up over the Avengers and attacking from above.

"Fuck," Tony muttered as he flew up into the thick of it, taking out the bots at level and below. His grounded teammates couldn't do much but duck and roll and avoid the onslaught. They were getting overwhelmed. By _doombots_. Oh, this was just shameful.

"Status report B team?" spoke another voice over the comms suddenly, the deeper, more authoritative Steve voice that Tony knew to recognize as his 3490 counterpart.

"We're getting blasted from up top," Steve said grimly. "We've only got two fliers, Thor and Iron Man are doing their best."

"Are they keeping things contained?" the Commander demanded. Tony looked around through the throng of doombots that surrounded him—no, they definitely weren't keeping things contained. A few doombots at the back of the pack were fleeing off in other directions. Thor was taking down the ones that he could, but there were a lot of little bots.

"Negative," Steve replied. Tony could parse out the annoyance in his voice.

"Can you handle it or do I need to send out Captain Marvel and Falcon?" the Commander asked, sounding equally annoyed.

"We've got this," Tony said, just as Steve replied,

"Assist would be appreciated."

"No! We don't need an assist! We've got this!" Tony said, just as a doombot bodily slammed into him, its flight systems failing. Tony got knocked off course but he managed to right himself.

"Who exactly is team leader, B team?" the Commander demanded.

"…Cap," Tony replied reluctantly. Steve said nothing.

"Then assist will be sent; I don't want doombots running all over the city, we need to keep them contained or they're going to be a much bigger problem for everyone. 3490 out." The crackly static that indicated 3490 comms had merged with theirs cut off suddenly.

It wasn't long before the static returned, and Captain Marvel and Falcon announced their arrival. Now that the aerial battle was evened out, some of the doombots were backed down to the ground, and the other Avengers returned to the fight. Fifteen minutes later, all of the doombots left made a concerted effort to retreat, fleeing in wild patterns. It didn't take much longer until the Commander returned over the comms

"Mission Accomplished," the Commander said. "Let the birds fly home, B team. You'll do more damage over the city taking them out than they will headed back to Doom's lair. They shouldn't cause us any more trouble today."

"Copy that, Commander," both Carol and Sam replied.

"Report to the Triskelion for debriefing everyone," the Commander spoke, and then the static from the 3490 comms disappeared from the line. Carol and Sam flew off together, towards the Triskelion. Tony landed on the street and took off his faceplate. Thor landed as well, and the others gathered around Steve.

"Let's head over," Steve said. Tony could see that his jaw was set in a way that always meant he was pissed.

"Want a ride?" Tony offered as Clint and Natasha headed over to Thor. Bruce hadn't joined them for this outing; 3490 were concerned that his Hulk, a less controlled Hulk, might do unnecessary damage to the city. Bruce had seemed frankly relieved that he wasn't asked to join in. Steve didn't answer Tony, he just grabbed on to the back of the suit. Tony put his faceplate back on and fired up the suit.

It didn't take them long to reach the Triskelion. Steve was silent as they flew, silent as they landed, and silent as they walked through the building. Tony felt himself squirming a bit inside the suit. Steve and silence was never a good thing, for one reason or another. They rounded the corner into one of the larger conference rooms. Half the "A Team" Avengers were already there, including Antonella and the Commander. They both stood at a clear console, going through images of the battle—Tony realized with a start that it was film of _them_, of their team taking down the doombots.

"—And James called earlier. He's taking furlough for Christmas, he'll be staying with us at home for a few weeks," Antonella spoke to her husband as MCU entered the room.

"Oh, that's great," 3490 Steve said, smiling. "It will be nice to have him for the holiday. He doesn't want to fly home to see his mother?"

"I offered to fly him, he said she'd be coming to New York in January to see him off," Antonella explained. "So, heads up on that. Maybe we should be out of the city—you know, Maui is _lovely_ this time of year, we could even take Kate and Peter—"

"_Tony_," 3490 Steve admonished, "I'm not fleeing the city to avoid my ex-wife."

"Pity," Antonella said mournfully. "You know what else is a pity?" Antonella turned to stare directly at the MCU Avengers. "That these idiots have so much potential but can't even take down a platoon of _doombots_. I mean really, guys, come on. I could have put James, Azari, Torrun, Kate and Billy out there and it would have been cleaned up in twenty."

"I think what Tony _means_ to say," 3490 Steve said, giving his a wife a rebuking look, "is, what exactly happened out there?"

"Simple—they started an aerial assault and we've only got two guys who can fly," Tony said.

"I think what Tony _means_ to say is that if he'd followed orders and stayed in the sky, taking the high ground, we could have picked those doombots off as they tried to rise up in the sky and our two guys never would have gotten overwhelmed in the first place," Steve said. Oh, yeah. He was pissed. "But Tony doesn't ever follow orders."

"Well maybe if you'd let me in on your little plan instead of just letting me play Lookout I would have stayed put," Tony snapped.

"I shouldn't _have_ to outline my whole damn battle plan for you to _do as you're told_," Steve snapped right back. "And you should _know_ that you need to stay in the sky—taking the high ground is the first rule of battle strategy—aren't you supposed to be some weapons genius? Surely you learned that at least _once_—"

"Hey, I know you need to take the high ground, but I also know it's pretty damn useless to have four of your guys fighting and one just floating around in the air while everybody else gets assaulted!" Tony fought back.

"All right, all right, enough!" 3490 Steve commanded. Both to Tony and Steve's surprise, they shut their mouths. 3490 Steve just rolled his eyes. "You're worse than James and Peter, you know that? B team hit the showers and cool off. We'll debrief when you're not still incensed."

"Oh, I don't think this is an aggression issue," Antonella disagreed. "I think this is a…team cohesiveness issue. I think you all could use some good old fashioned team bonding. You know, we all could, if our teams are going to be working more closely together."

"Oh, no, Tony, _no_," the Commander said.

"Oh yes, Steven, yes," Antonella replied with a grin. "Friday! This Friday we'll pull something together. Leave it to me." The Commander just sighed. He waved a hand at MCU.

"Dismissed, team. We'll talk later. Tony_ no_, I know what you're planning, and _no_." While the 3490 team leaders bickered and bantered, MCU left the conference room. Tony was fuming. Steve was fuming. The others didn't seem happy either.

"The both of you make us all look bad," Natasha commented as soon as they were out of the room. Steve looked at her in surprise, but she just raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. "We need to present a _united front_. Which means Stark, you need to stop pulling shit, and Rogers, if he pulls shit we at least have to back each other up against 3490."

"Nat's right. The division doesn't look good," Clint agreed.

"So pull your heads out of your asses before you get us all killed," Nat finished, and then headed to the ladies' locker room, the door clicking shut behind her. Tony felt stricken. Steve looked stricken. Clint and Thor just shrugged and headed into their own locker room, but Steve and Tony stayed outside the door. Tony felt the urge to scratch at the back of his head, but he hadn't removed the armor yet, only the faceplate.

"I should have stayed in the sky," Tony finally relented.

"And I shouldn't have lost my temper with you in front of 3490," Steve agreed.

"Truce?" Tony asked, holding out a hand. Steve looked at it for a moment then nodded, taking the offered gauntlet.

"Truce," he said.


	66. Pedestal

It had been a close call for Kate, getting back inside the house. Peter had found her on the way in and wrinkled his nose.

"Jesus, Kate, way to stink up the place," he'd remarked, which sent Kate immediately to the shower. She was afraid that if her mother caught her she'd skin her alive, even though it was just pot. She'd probably think it was a gateway drug or something. _God_. So Kate showered, using her most potent, floral-and-fruit bodywash and strawberry scented shampoo. She smelled like a candle store when she exited, but it had washed away and masked the smell of weed. Hair still wet, she crafted it into a perfect bun on top of her head and dressed in a simple black leotard and pink tights. There were all sorts of fashionable things you could do with a leotard—you could wear one in a different color, or buy one with a design to it, or add a sheer skirt—but Kate preferred a simple, low-back black leotard and pink tights. Anything else detracted from the real beauty of ballet—the movement, the body, itself. She put on yoga pants and a comfortable t-shirt over it for travel, and then she was out the door, on the way to the studio with Happy.

When she danced, everything had more clarity. There was nothing but her body and the music, and that was the way she liked it. When she was dancing en pointe, there was no _room_ for anything else. Any distraction could cause an unforgiving injury. So Kate thought, but she _didn't_ think. She was consumed by a singularity, consumed more fully than she was even in drugs.

She was sad to finish the lesson as always, but still coming down from the high of endorphins that filled her body. She walked through the house, still in her point shoes (there weren't, after all, any damaging surfaces in the house, and she needed to break her painful new pair in). It was late, her class didn't finish until nine in the evening, and it was ten by the time she got back home. The Alts were either sleeping or consumed in their own quiet activities. So Kate stepped softly through the house, heading to her own bedroom, when a light caught her attention. It was the light to her father's art studio. She peered inside, through the small gap in the door. Her father sat on a stool, dabbing paint onto a canvas mounted on an easel. She pushed the door open a bit wider. It creaked. Her father looked over, and he smiled when he saw her.

"Kate," he said. "Have a good lesson?" Kate just nodded and stood behind him. She put her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his head, viewing the painting.

"You're painting me?" Kate asked, a bit astonished. It wasn't that he never had, of course. There were plenty of paintings of her as a little girl, plenty of paintings of mother and Peter and James and even some of Bernie, his first wife, and Peggy, his first love. There were paintings of Bucky and war heroes Kate had never known, paintings of Granddad, who had died so many years before Kate had ever been born. Her father painted people important to him, and Kate had always been on that list. But he hadn't painted her in a good long while, long enough that Kate had never seen herself painted as a teen.

She recognized the scene. She'd played Clara in the Nutcracker that December, the coveted title role. She'd worked the whole _year_ for that part—and in her father's painting, that work showed. Her face, beatific, as she held the nutcracker doll and stood on point, warmed in the stage lights. She looked even younger than her age. She was the pinnacle of sweet innocence, everything she'd had to emulate as the character, and her father had captured it in his half-finished painting. The stage still wasn't filled in, but the basics of _her_ were there.

"Obviously," her father answered. "How do you like it so far?"

"It's beautiful, Daddy," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Well, it's lucky to have a beautiful subject," he said. "You were so wonderful that day. I've never seen a better ballet. I'm so proud of you Kate." He took her hand and moved her so that she was standing to his side, so she could better see his face. He was very serious. "I know you've been having a hard time lately, Katie. I don't know what's going on, specifically, but you're obviously struggling with something. And I _know_ you know I'm always here to talk, so I must just not be the right person to talk with. Talk to someone, sweetheart. You'll get through this, whatever this is. And you don't have to turn to alcohol to do it, ok? And if it's just because you like to party—Kate, I understand that. You want to have some fun. And a little fun is ok. Just make sure you tell your mother and I where you're going and when you'll be back, and make _safe_ choices, ok? We're not here to judge you, Kate. And believe me, anything you've done, I'm sure your mother has. We're here to _support _you, Katie, and keep you safe and happy. All right? So no more sneaking." Kate just nodded, unable to speak. Her father just smiled, and turned back to his painting.

"I might just finish this tonight," he said. He looked at his watch. "It is getting late though. Kate, you should probably get to bed."

"Ok, Daddy," Kate said, moving past the lump in her throat. She gave him another kiss on the cheek, and he captured her in a hug.

"I _love you_, Kate," he said emphatically when he finally let her go. "And I'm proud of you. I want you to know that."

"I do," Kate replied. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," her father said, and turned back to his painting as she left. Kate spared a few more glances for the work of art, but as she walked further and further back, the unfinished stage looked more and more like an impossible pedestal, and Kate didn't know for how much longer she could tip-toe across the top of it.


	67. Team Bonding

Tony sloshed the mix into shot glasses. Even if she couldn't drink, hadn't drunk for years, it didn't mean she didn't remember all the best recipes. In her own shot glass she had a modified recipe of the same drink—all syrups and flavorings with ginger ale. It wasn't the same, but it would do. And if she started feeling itchy for the real deal later in the night, well, she knew Steve would keep an eye on her. He wouldn't be drinking either—well, he'd be drinking, but the alcohol wouldn't affect him. She took another bottle, filled with a blue liquid filled with ingredients she'd carefully crafted in the early nineties, and put it in two separate shot glasses. She handed one to Other Steve and one to Bucky. Bucky, of course, took it with a grin. Other Steve just looked confused.

"Blue?" he asked.

"It'll get you drunk," Tony clarified for him. "A little formula of mine. Made it with a chemist pal back at MIT. I couldn't not see Steve drunk at least once in my life. You don't have to drink it if you don't want to, but I figured…"

"No it's…thanks," he said. Tony watched him carefully. She wasn't, in retrospect, entirely certain that this was a good idea. It had taken her three years to perfect the magic liquid that would get Steve drunk. Which meant, of course, he had a life he enjoyed and had largely recovered from the grief and shock of his enormous loss. This Steve, however, seemed to be wallowing a bit. She would just have to make sure wallowing didn't turn to drowning.

"All right, everybody take one shot now," Tony instructed as she finished filling up all the glasses in the circle. It was just like MIT all over again, with everyone sitting cross legged on the floor. Only, at MIT she hadn't had a sweet penthouse to house everyone—now, they played a drinking game on the floor despite the abundance of leather seating, in order to sit closer to the windows with the irresistible view of New York City at night. "Always best to get a little lubed up before the main event, know what you're drinking." Everyone obeyed her order without question. Other Tony examined the shot glass when he finished, staring at it in confusion. The other Alts held similar expressions, but her own team was well used to her masterful mixes.

"How is that alcohol? That was not alcohol," he insisted.

"That tastes like apple pie. How did you put a whole apple pie in a shot glass?" Other Clint asked, bewildered.

"That is _vile_," Other Steve said of his own shot.

"No pain no game, Rogers," Tony said, already refilling the shot glasses.

"What is _in_ this?" Other Tony demanded.

"It's a secret. Suffice it to say there's a decent amount of everclear, so you're not going to feel it until it hits you," Tony explained. She finished by refilling Other Steve and Bucky's shots, then her own.

"So what game are we playing, Tony?" Steve inquired.

"Ten fingers, otherwise known as 'Never-have-I-ever'," Tony replied cheerily. There was a groan from their own Clint.

"Tony how old are we?" he asked.

"You're only as old as you _feel_, Barton," Tony responded. Clint rolled his eyes.

"You're ridiculous. We're not in our twenties anymore."

"You're just jealous that I always beat you," Tony pointed out. Clint grumbled but said no more. "Everyone down for the game? It's team bonding guys. If 199999 is going to be here for another several months, well, it's time to start pooling our resources. And for that to happen, we'll need to work together. Hence—"

"Hence your solution is to get everyone drunk together and spilling heinous dirty secrets," Steve said with a small upward quirk to his mouth. Tony grinned.

"Yes! Drunken confessions are good for the soul and great for bonding. Everybody ready? Good. All right, Clint you start us off," Tony said.

"Fine, fine. Ok, uh…Never have I ever had a dick in my mouth," Clint said. All the women groaned and grabbed for their shot glasses—as did Steve and Other Tony and, a bit reluctantly, Other Steve. She noticed the Alts staring at her husband and Other Steve incredulously. Her own Steve raised an eyebrow at the stunned expressions and just shrugged as Other Steve tried unsuccessfully to fight back a blush. Oh, how that brought Tony back every time.

"My turn," Bobbie said as Tony refilled the glasses that needed filling. "Never have I ever had a devil's threesome. Regretfully." This time the only ones to drink were Steve, Tony, and Other Tony (though Other Thor first needed an explanation, which he received from a slightly embarrassed Jane). And once again, while no one seemed surprised by either Tony's participation, all the Alts stared at Steve.

"Tony made a barrel of that blue concoction. It was the nineties," he said by way of explanation. Tony refilled both their glasses.

"What happened in the nineties…" she didn't bother to finished the phrase, just raised her shot glass in a toast and Steve followed her lead. They both took a shot to that. Tony refilled the glasses.

"Never have I ever done pot. Contrary to popular rumor," Bruce said pointedly to Tony. Tony just grinned and took her own ginger ale shot as three quarters of the circle drank—including Bruce's alternate.

"Never have I ever had sushi," was Betty's contribution, which made _everyone_ drink—except for Other Thor, who looked very confused.

They got all the way around the circle, with a variety of confessions—some were innocent ("Never have I ever been to summer camp", "Never have I ever puked at an amusement park or fair"), and plenty were not. They were halfway through round three around the circle when the phone in Tony's pocket started ringing. Tony excused herself from the circle and walked just a bit away from the happy (and largely roaring drunk) group. It wasn't often that Tony's actual cell phone rang. Typically her business calls were ranked in order of importance and routed through JARVIS who then contacted her directly through her internal Extremis connections. So, she had a business phone which she largely kept in a drawer in the mansion and just used her mind to answer most things. A phone call usually meant Peter or Kate was calling, or possibly her secretary at SHIELD in the event of a real emergency (that happened a bit more often). Tony didn't, however, recognize the number that was calling.

"Hello?" she greeted the mystery caller.

"Hello, this is Nurse Maria Collins from St. Vincent's Hospital. Am I speaking to Mrs. Bishop, please?"


	68. Fuzzy

Steve hadn't felt so…so…what was the word again? Good? Good didn't seem enough. Excellent? Fluid? Happy? Happy. Happy was probably the word, though he wasn't entirely sure. Steve hadn't felt so happy in a good long while. It had a lot to do with that blue stuff Tony's female counterpart had shoved in his hands. Comparatively, he hadn't had that much to drink. 'Never Have I Ever' seemed to be mainly comprised of truths about everyone's sex lives, which Steve hadn't entirely been expecting. He was confessing more than he expected, and his teammates seemed a little surprised but not by any means appalled. His face was still burning red, and he wasn't exactly _happy_ about spilling his secrets…but then again, he'd had a choice. He wasn't _that_ drunk yet. Still, the blue liquid was powerful stuff. His state of intoxication, therefore, was probably why he didn't realize—why no one in the room realized—what was happening until 3490 Tony was hyperventilating, her husband in front of her and urging her to concentrate, to breathe as he did. Steve still didn't understand what was happening. He didn't understand why 3490 Tony and 3490 Steve suddenly were grabbing their coats and rushing out the door. He didn't understand why Bucky—and it was so difficult to remember that he, too, deserved a label, had _3490_ hanging over him like the others, had _not yours_ precluding his name—was hauling him to his feet and ushering _him _out the door.

"What—?" he managed to say.

"Kate's overdosed. She's in the hospital," Bucky said. Despite having imbibed much more than Steve had, he was completely coherent, and very gravely serious. It took a moment for Bucky's words to sink in, for Steve to comprehend what was happening, but eventually it sunk in as his phrases merged.

_Kate's in the hospital_.


	69. We Are Young

"Get up. _Up_." James could hear a quiet voice from somewhere above him, and then suddenly tiny hands on him, shaking him gently. "Come _on_, James, get up!" James opened his eyes to see Kate standing beside his bed in the dark.

"Hnngh?" James answered unintelligibly. Nothing made sense. Why was Kate at the military base? Why was she waking him up in the middle of the night? Then panic seized him—what had happened? He bolted upright, but then realized he was wrong on one assumption; he wasn't _at_ the military base. Right. It was nearly Christmas. He was given a furlough for the holidays before being sent overseas. He rubbed at his eyes and glanced at the clock. Well, his second assumption had been correct. It was eleven o'clock.

"I can't believe you go to sleep at ten. You're such an old man," Kate said, stripping the covers from his body. James thought briefly that it was a good thing he didn't sleep naked. Kate for her part was dressed in a tiny blue skirt and an off the shoulder black top. They were definitely not pajamas.

"You would go to sleep at ten, too, if you had to get up at five every morning," James pointed out. "Why do you feel the need to annoy me right now, Katie?"

"We're going out, bitch," Kate said, a playful grin on her face.

"We're…what?"

"Put on some clean jeans and a muscle shirt. I snagged a few invites to the House of M downtown," Kate said, turning around to check her make-up in the mirror on his bureau.

"House of M? Seriously?"

"Yeah, fucking seriously. I know a guy. So, you in?" she asked.

"Give me five minutes," James said. Kate left the room and James quickly changed before meeting her in the hall. "So am I driving?"

"Nope—Francis is. He's in the garage. I asked Peter to come with us but you know how he has an aversion to fun," Kate said seriously. _He's probably exhausted from patrol_, James thought, but then shook it off. It probably _was_ just Peter being a fucking square again. As they entered the garage, Francis cheerfully greeted him,

"Good evening cupcake!"

"And to you too, pumpkin," James replied, rolling his eyes. He and Kate fought over shotgun for a minute before Francis made the executive decision that Kate could have it.

"I like her better," Francis said. "Also she snagged the tickets, so." Well, James couldn't argue with the last one. Or the first one, really. He took the back and, as soon as they were safely out of the vicinity of the house, Francis cranked up the music so the whole car shook. They danced in their seats and sang badly the whole way there. _House of M_—James would be lying if he said he wasn't excited. To say it was exclusive was to say the Avengers were picky about members. Largely the scene of the mutant crowd, not even Academy kids—that is to say, SHIELD Academy kids, half of whom were just a small step away from mutant—were invited. Famous people seemed to be the only non-mutants ever allowed inside. James had no idea how Kate had managed to get tickets inside, even if she _did_ 'know a guy'. James wasn't sure he wanted to know _how_ well his sixteen year old sister knew this guy, though—it might require him to hunt him down and bash his face in, as big brothers do. Of course, Kate was perfectly capable of bashing faces in on her own.

They arrived downtown pretty quickly, comparatively. Kate led them through the streets of Manhattan until they happened upon a single steel door with a bouncer stationed outside. There was no line. Kate pulled out three blue-and-purple laminated tickets. The bouncer just gave one nod and opened the door. The music of the club exploded outside. It had a strong beat, but it wasn't any song James recognized. They wandered inside, standing on what appeared to be a catwalk above a basement level. The people in the basement were packed pretty tightly, dancing and grinding and all together making an interesting scene—one person was scaly, another kept changing her hair color, one kept lighting the air above him on fire. It was definitely a mutant club. There were stairs to the dance floor below, but also stairs to an upper level. James could see a bar and some more relaxed seating, but not many people appeared to be taking advantage of the plush leather seats. Nevertheless, that was where Kate headed first. James and Francis followed—might as well start with a drink or two. James wouldn't feel the effects, but he could go for a beer anyway.

The bar was relatively quiet, surprisingly. James figured they must have another on the lower level. Kate flounced right up to it and turned on her hundred-watt smile.

"Hey gorgeous," she said and ugh, James never wanted to hear his baby sister flirt. It was disturbing on many levels. The guy working the bar looked up. He had tattoos on his arms and spiky black hair. He had more piercings than James could count. The _interesting_ thing about him, though, was the fact that his tattoos weren't stationary. James had no idea how, but they moved. An eagle on his shoulder flapped its wings, and a snake on his other arm writhed. He smirked at Kate.

"Hey babe," he said. "I see you finally put the tickets I gave you to use." He nodded to James and Francis. "Who're your friends?"

"Oh, just my big brother and his friend," Kate said, still smiling. "Think we can get something to drink?" It did not go unnoticed to James that Francis' hands were balled into tight, white-knuckled fists.

"Sure thing, angel," he said. "You want me to pick?"

"Oh, please do your magic, Tudo," Kate said. Tudo started on whatever drinks he decided to concoct while Kate continued to flirt with him. Francis and James stayed back.

"_Tudo_? What kind of name is _Tudo_?" Francis asked furiously, under his breath.

"I think it's Japanese," James replied. It didn't take long before Kate was walking towards them, drinks in hand. Even if James hated that he was eyeing up his baby sister, he had to admit the guy was an excellent bartender. James had no idea what he was drinking, but it was dark and heavy and had a lot of burn going down. It was just what James needed. Kate's drink, however, was Pepto-Bismol pink and probably horrifically sweet. Francis' was blue, and he seemed to like it against his will. They all headed down to the basement together, but they were soon separated. James was quickly snatched up by a hot brunette with a forked tongue; he didn't know where Francis had gone, but he could see his little sister dancing with a few guys at the same time. Well, that was just her style.

"Want to go somewhere a little quieter?" the brunette—James thought she'd said her name was Lizzie—eventually whispered in his ear, her breath hot on his neck. Considering that she was grinding on him at the time, James found it impossible to say no. She dragged him to one of the lesser-used corners of the club on the middle floor and pinned him against the wall.

He didn't know how long they were there for—but eventually Lizzie suggested they go back to her place. James was all for that—but, no, he had responsibilities.

"Sorry doll," he said, "you're gorgeous but I've got to make sure my little sister isn't getting herself into trouble." Lizzie just shrugged and walked back downstairs. James went to the railing of the catwalk, looking down at the club. He could spot Francis, moving around, but he didn't see Kate. He headed down the stairs himself, heading to the archer.

"Hey, have you seen Kate?" James asked.

"I was just about to ask _you_ that," Francis said. He looked a little panicked, like he'd been looking for a while. "I wasn't paying attention for _five minutes_ and then she was gone—I checked upstairs, but I didn't see her, so I came back down here—thought I missed her—but shit, James, that tattoo guy was gone when I went up there."

"_Shit_," James said. He spotted Lizzie a few feet away and gently grabbed her arm. "Hey, do you know if this place has any private rooms?" She gave him a coy smile.

"Change your mind, soldier?" she asked.

"No, no, I'm looking for my sister," James said, shaking his head. The girl rolled her eyes.

"Probably ditched you as soon as you weren't looking. Who wants their older brother hanging over them? My advice? Leave her alone," Lizzie said.

"Thanks," James said flatly, "but I didn't ask for your advice. I just want to know if there are private rooms here." Lizzie shrugged.

"There's a VIP room on the second floor. It's not labeled but it's the only door up there," she said.

"Thank you," James said sincerely, then grabbed Francis, heading upstairs. Francis followed him, looking worried, more worried than James was. "Hey man, take it easy, we'll find her. She's probably just making out with that Tudo dude, no big deal—"

"No, she's probably _fucking_ that Tudo dude," Francis said bluntly. "And that pisses me off because he's _at least_ twenty-six, and I don't _get_ why you're not more bothered by it—and that's _best _case scenario." They had arrived on the second floor, and sure enough, there was only one door at the end of the hall.

"What's the worst?" James asked, puzzled. His baby sister fucking that Tudo guy was definitely _his_ worst case scenario, but he didn't really think she was like that. He was so much older than her, surely, he was fun to flirt with but she wouldn't take it any further. But then James' stomach dropped out. Maybe _she_ wouldn't take it that far, but he didn't know _anything_ about that mutant. Kate might have super strength, but what exactly could _he_ do? James hurried his steps and opened the VIP door.

There wasn't much in the room, just a set of sofas, a coffee table, and a flat screen TV. James wasn't sure it was a VIP room so much as the beginning of an apartment above the club. But all the background information left James as he noticed who was _on_ the couch. Crouched just over it was Tudo. He was fully clothed, but James could guess just _who_ he was crouching over. He stormed over, Francis at his side, and when he could see them from the front, well—he lost it. His sister was unconscious below the mutant, who was shouting her name. He decked the guy, who fell off the couch.

"What the _fuck_, man—" the guy started, but Francis came at him. He punched him in his gut. This time though, Tudo was ready for him and punched Francis in the face, splitting his lip. James came at the bartender from the side, shoving him into a wall. Tudo reached over for a vase and smashed James over the head with it. It probably would have knocked a normal guy unconscious, but James just felt the sting of a broken shard cutting him on the forehead.

"THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HER?" James screamed at him.

"NOTHING!" Tudo yelled, but James just decked him again. He fell to his hands and knees.

"NOTHING? NOTHING? WHAT'D YOU SLIP HER? GHB?" James kicked the guy in the ribs, and he groaned, falling flat to the ground.

"James? James we've got to call an ambulance, _now_," Francis said. James turned. Francis was kneeling by the couch, two of his fingers pressed against her neck. "She's tachycardic—_Jesus_." James could see more clearly now—on the coffee table were a bunch of tablets laid out. Tudo hadn't slipped her anything. He hadn't needed to. She'd taken it willingly.

"_Shit_," James said before he was pulling out his phone and fumbling for 911.


	70. Fun

One wouldn't do it. Kate knew that. All she wanted was something to help her forget her life for a few hours, something to make her feel like every other average kid. But Kate couldn't get drunk, and drugs were tricky. For them to have any affect at all, there had to be a lot of them hitting her system, all at the same time. Tudo had said _just one, just one _before he'd skipped off to the kitchen to get some water bottles. Kate eyed the tablets on the table. _Just one_ wasn't going to cut it. Just one wouldn't even give her a buzz. She swiped four, popped them in her mouth, and swallowed before Tudo got back. They'd wait to feel the effects, and then Kate would go back down to the club and party a little harder. It was just a bit of fun.


	71. Hospital

Kate was not Tony's daughter. Kate's health should not have any impact on Tony. Yet Tony found himself with a racing heart and panic in his veins as they sat outside the child's room. He didn't know the girl well. She was snappy and obnoxious and extremely vapid in Tony's opinion and he wasn't particularly fond of her. But there was some primal instinct kicking in inside Tony's heart. There was unconditional love and affection there that Tony recoiled from but could not prevent. It was already there, always _had_ been there, and it was horrifying to realize how much he cared about this family that was not his.

It wasn't just Kate, either, or Peter (who Tony _was_ terribly fond of, he had to admit; he was a hard kid to dislike), but his double, and even to an extent 3490 Steve, who was so much more _accepting_ and _understanding_ and _non-judgmental_ than the Steve of his own universe. He cared about them, cared about what happened to them. He hated that they were going through this.

Antonella stood with 3490 Steve, conversing quietly with the doctor. Tony only caught snippets from his seat—"ecstasy" and "will know better when she wakes up if". Tony didn't wholly understand what had happened. Francis and James sat across from him and some of the Avengers from both worlds—Tony had, in the chaos, lost track of who was who, and could not for the life of him tell the Clints apart, or the Bruces or Natashas or Thors. The Janes were simple given their age difference, but that was the only pair that was. The two boys looked guilty and utterly worn out. James had a nasty cut above his eye and Francis had a split lip and an amount of blood on his shirt that was not appropriate to his given injuries. Tony knew only that Kate had overdosed, that the boys had gotten into a fight with some other guy (who was probably being treated at the same hospital if the blood on Francis' shirt was anything to go on) and that now everyone was crowding up the hospital hallway. Peter had been called, and 3490 Happy (who had also informed 3490 Pepper who insisted on coming down) had picked him up and brought him to the hospital, dressed in pajama pants and an oversized coat, obviously having jammed his feet into shoes without socks or even bothering to really tie them. Tony had initially been surprised that none of the Avengers went home, that none of them went back to their own families. But after a while, he wasn't surprised at all anymore.

"I just don't understand," 3490 Steve said. He spoke quietly, but not quietly enough. He and Antonella stood just outside Kate's room, looking in on the unconscious girl through the open door. "I don't understand how this could have happened."

"She's young, she's rebellious, she's impressionable, hell maybe she's trying to prove some kind of point," Antonella said. 3490 Steve just shook his head.

"That's not what I mean, though I don't really understand her reasons, either. I mean—how could we have let this happen? How could she be suffering so under our watch? How did we _not know_ she was doing this? You heard the doctor, he said this is probably a repeat offense—how could we have missed this?" There was a long pause, and Tony could hear his own heartbeat, could feel his stomach sinking in horrible empathetic anticipation. He almost wanted to scream at his double, _don't say it!_ But he knew she would, knew she had to. Her gaze, which had fixed on the floor, flicked up slowly to meet her husband's eyes.

"Well. Actually…" those two words were the only things Antonella said, but it was enough. 3490 Steve's expression changed from one of confusion to _bewilderment_ to disbelief to rage in the span three seconds.

"You _knew_?" his voice was as hard as steel, and Antonella visibly winced.

"Steve…"

"You did! You _knew_!" 3490 Steve exclaimed, incredulous.

"I—"

"How could you keep this from me?" 3490 Steve asked. There was raw pain in that question, quieter now. Antonella looked so very lost.

"Steve, I had my reasons, you have to understand—" Antonella began, but Steve didn't let her finish. His tone went from hurt to furious.

"I don't _have_ to understand a goddamn thing, Tony! You kept this from me! You knew our daughter was _on drugs_ and you didn't say a _fucking thing_ to me about it! This is _her health_, Tony, this is her _life_, this isn't—I don't know, keeping her confidence about a _boyfriend_ this is keeping from me information that _could kill her_," 3490 Steve said. He was shouting by the end of it, and Antonella was looking less and less able to meet him with confidence, shrinking in on herself from the scolding.

"Steve, if you'd let me explain—"

"Explain? Explain _what_ Tony? What the hell is there to explain this time?" Steve demanded.

"Not out here. Steve, please, let's not do this in the hallway—"

"What, so the world can't hear? So our team can't hear or so the Alts can't hear? Because I can guarantee they've been exposed to worse, we've already aired all our dirty laundry, what's one more thing?" 3490 Steve said, and this time he seemed angry about something Tony didn't personally understand.

"No, so that when Kate wakes up we're not fighting in front of her face," she said stoically. 3490 Steve seemed to agree with that at least, as he let Antonella lead him into an empty room across the way. They both must have realized that every pair of eyes in the hallway—Avenger, family, or not—was still following them, but it seemed to be a condition they were both used to. They shut the door behind them, but it didn't help much. The Avengers, alternate or not, seated so close, could still hear everything even though it was a bit muffled.

"You know what, Tony, I could believe a lot of things of you, a lot of unfavorable things. I really could, because while I know we've been through a lot in the past, and _you've_ been through hell in the past, I know that sometimes everyday is a struggle for you, and I could believe that you could slip up and make a bad decision, and I could forgive you for that, because we're _human_ and we all make _mistakes_. But one thing I could never believe of you is you being a _careless mother_ to your children. I would _never _expect that of you, _never _believe that of you, and I'm having trouble believing it now. How could you _do this_ Tony? Nevermind me, nevermind us, how could you do this to _Kate_?"

"How is this _my fault_?" Antonella asked, sounding incredibly wounded, an hysterical tone to her voice that Tony had never heard from his double.

"You _let_ this happen, Tony! You didn't even _inform me_—"

"So it's my _fault_ that she's on drugs?"

"No, but it's your damn fault she overdosed! We wouldn't be standing here right now if you had _told me_—"

"You don't _know _that!" Antonella's tone was wounded. Her voice cracked in the middle.

"We could have put her in a center! We could have gotten her a psychologist, a sponsor, _whatever she needed_ but instead you _hid_ this! You hid this, and now she's hurt—she could have _died_ Tony—what about that doesn't scream 'neglectful' to you? And what the hell is your _reason_ for keeping from me _health_ information?"

"I was _protecting_ her," Antonella said defensively. "Protecting you _both_."

"From _what?_"

"Yourselves! I know what it is, Steve, when you're no longer on a pedestal in your father's eyes. And I know what it is to see the disappointment there and—no, don't you give me that look! You _know_ I'm right—"

"So you're comparing me to _Howard_ now? Well I fucking thought we'd left that back in 1996—"

"I'm not saying you're like him, Steve, you're not _listening_—"

"I think I've fucking listened to _enough_ Tony. You _lied_ to me. Maybe not directly, but a lie of omission—and you fucking well know it's the same goddamn thing, we've been through this enough already! You just think you can do anything you want without any accountability don't you? Here I was, thinking you'd _changed_, really and truly _changed_, that maybe somehow I'd _helped_ you change. But you lied to me, and you lied to me about my daughter's _health_ situation because you fucking thought it would _change my opinion of her_ and that—that is _not ok_, Tony, on _every level_, and I can't believe you would do this, to me, to her, to _us_."

"Steve," Antonella's voice was pleading. Fragile.

"What, Tony? What could you possibly have to say for yourself? What could you possibly have to say to me at this point? You know for all the things Bernie did I'll say this for her—she has _never_ lied to me about James' health, she has _never_ withheld information—"

There was a loud _smack_ that could be heard clear out into the hallway. Peter's eyes were as wide as pool balls. Bucky got up like his seat was on fire and peeked into the window looking into the hospital room; Tony was fairly certain that it was his double who had done the smacking and not the other way around, but he was glad Bucky wasn't leaving anything to chance.

"Don't you _dare_," came Antonella's voice, shaking with shock, anger, and grief. "Don't you _dare_ compare what I did out of love to _her_."

"And why the hell not? For all the shit she pulled she _never_ endangered James' life—" Peter slowly appeared to be melding with his seat. James' face was ashen. Tony felt a pang of sympathy for the kid, even if he didn't like him. He knew what it was like to be used in your parents' arguments like a prop.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_, Steve, I'm _sorry_. I _know_ it's my fault, and our daughter is _lying unconscious_ in the next room over and I _know_ I fucked up, but—" it was obvious from her broken tone that Antonella was struggling to keep it together.

"You've _more_ than _'fucked up'_ this time, Tony, I can't believe—"

Tony was startled when the spell over all of them was disrupted as Bucky abruptly wrenched open the door and shouted sharply,

"достаточно!" _Dostatchno_! Tony had no idea what it meant, but it shut them both up. The momentary silence was almost more painful as Antonella's little gasping sobs were more apparent. The irregularity of the sound betrayed her attempts to compose herself.

"Не лезь в это!" _Ne lez' v eto! _Steve responded in Russian, which was a bit mindboggling because Tony had for some reason, though he wasn't sure why, been under the impression that Steve had no second languages.

"Ты пожалеешь об этом завтра. Достаточно, Стив." Bucky was obviously scolding his friend, but Tony had no idea what was going on, but Bucky held open the door and gestured out emphatically. "Мы собираемся на прогулку."

A moment later 3490 Steve and Bucky emerged from the hall, headed out of the hospital, away from all the Avengers. Antonella did not emerge, and Tony could not blame her. However, the moment there was a faint, muffled sound from Kate's room, Antonella left her refuge like a shot, instantly arriving at her daughter's bedside. It would have been difficult to miss the tears still streaking down her cheeks. Tony didn't hear Kate's question, but he did hear Antonella's answer.

"No, sweetie, no," she said, soothing. "We were fighting over something I did. It's not your fault. Your father and I fighting is _never_ your fault, do you understand me? It's between us. Don't you worry about it. Everything's going to be fine. You just get your rest, all right?"

There must have been another mumbled question, as Antonella answered,

"Yes, you did."

Another pause.

"Well, James and Francis got quite upset with him, I think, but he'll be ok," Antonella said, sounding uncomfortable.

Another pause.

"Oh, no honey, they didn't take the bracelet. Here it is, on the bedside table with your clothes. Here, why don't you hold onto that. Go back to sleep, Kate, all right? We just want you better."

There were no more words for several minutes, and none of the Avengers in the hall moved. Antonella emerged from the room, but refused to look at any of them. She just stared blankly into her daughter's room and said in a neutral tone,

"She'll be fine. I'll let you all know if there's a change for the worse, but she'll be fine. She's lucky she has super soldier genes. I'd appreciate it if you all left. Kate needs her rest now." No one spoke or moved for a moment, but finally Clint—3490 Clint, Tony thought—broke the silence.

"We're all here to support your family right now, Tony. Is there anything we can—?"

"Please," Antonella interrupted. There was a tremor in her voice, a desperate note. "Please, just go." Just as he was first to speak, Clint was first to rise. He tapped Francis on the shoulder, who rose reluctantly. Everyone followed silently, save for James, Peter, and, surprisingly, Natasha—3490, Tony assumed. He wondered if she was waiting for Bucky to come back, but the thought left him quickly. All he could think about was the raw sound of Antonella's voice. It was hurt and broken and filled with self-loathing.

This was where family ended up. This was _always_ where family ended up—in a broken pile of people, all hurt and angry at one another, tearing each other apart in the worst ways possible. _This_ was the truth of family. Tony took Pepper's hand and squeezed it. She shot him a small, understanding smile. Tony would never have family, other than Pepper and Rhodey and JARVIS. Tony refused. He just hoped that he could live with that.


	72. Just a Few Days

Kate had come home just after spending over twenty-four hours at the hospital. She was doing fine, medically speaking. Steve was as gentle with her as he ever was. He'd given her the stern, "I'm disappointed in you, Kate Rogers" talk, but that was it. The pedestal might have been chipped a bit away at, but it wasn't gone entirely. He still loved her—that had never been a fear of Tony's—but he was also still _proud_ of her. He was proud of who she was, even if she was going through a rough patch. Tony really should have seen that—after all, he'd always put up with _her_. Well, until now, anyway.

They'd spent the day at the hospital with Kate, but they hadn't had much interaction with each other. She'd tried her best to engage him, but all she received were tight-lipped responses. She got the message clearly. _I'm here for Kate, not for you._ Tony was angry with Steve, for some of the things that he'd said. But for the most part, she just wished he'd speak to her.

They went back to the mansion. The Alts were happy that Kate was all right. They'd all become rather invested in them, and Tony would be lying if she said the reverse wasn't true—she'd grown quite attached to 199999. None of them treated Kate rudely over the matter, none of them even mentioned it directly, except to express their thankfulness that she was unharmed. The first day, Kate had rested. The second, she wanted to go to school. They let her; it was probably better that she get out of the house than wallow in her problems, probably better that she be seen by her friends before they got suspicious about her absence. Steve and Tony still had not decided on just _what_ exactly they were going to do about their daughter's drug use. She had been grounded until Kingdom Come, but beyond that Tony wasn't certain, and it wasn't like Steve was talking to her about _anything_. He wasn't sleeping in their bed, either. He elected to sleep on the couch, wordlessly. Tony had asked him to come to bed with her, but his hard look had sent her back to their bedroom alone.

Finally, on the third day, after Kate had one successful day at school under her belt, after the kids had left for yet another day, Tony emerged from her lab to find a black duffel sitting by the door. Tony froze. She wished fervently that it belonged to one of the Alts. She stood there for several minutes, begging whatever deity there might be, that it belonged to one of the Alts. But of course, she knew. She knew whose duffel that was, had seen it three thousand times before, when they went on long missions or (more rarely) on vacation. Eventually Steve walked into the hallway.

"Tony," he said. It was the first time he'd spoken her name since that night at the hospital. She looked up at him. He was still so angry. It wasn't in his face, but it was in his eyes. "I was looking for you." Tony couldn't formulate a response. She just stared at him. She knew why he was looking for her, the only possible reason given the evidence before her. He at least had the decency to inform her that he was leaving. When she didn't speak, he continued, "It's gotten a little crowded here."

"Mm," was all Tony could say, because her throat was stuck together.

"I just need a few days to clear my head," he said.

"Mhm," Tony said. She knew he didn't believe his words any more than she did.

"I'll be at the Triskelion, if anybody needs me," he finished, picking up the duffel and opening the front door. He turned to go, but then looked over his shoulder. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then he turned back around and left, shutting the door behind him. Tony could only stare blankly at the oak. She walked up to the door, putting her hands on it. She thought about swinging open the door and running outside, begging him not to go—but she would never do that. It wouldn't do any good, anyway. She'd finally done it. She'd finally gone and done it. She'd done exactly what she'd always expected herself to do, done exactly what she'd been afraid of every time she refused his proposal. She'd finally driven him away. She flipped around and leaned on the door, closing her eyes. She was barely conscious of her body sliding down it, she only knew her legs would no longer support her.

She sobbed into her knees and wished for a drink.


	73. Spaghetti

It was probably a testament to 3490 Tony Stark's composure that no one realized anything was wrong until dinner; though it could have also been a testament to just how long she'd spent in the lab that day, away from everyone. Nevertheless, Steve hadn't suspected a thing was amiss with the 3490 family—aside from the obvious—until they all sat down at the table and his double was conspicuously absent.

"Where's Dad?" Peter asked, scooping a heap of noodles onto his plate before passing the bowl.

"He left. He's going to spend a few days at the Triskelion," 3490 Tony said evenly. Nothing about her tone relayed distress. She spoke like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to go. She made it sound so typical that for a moment, Steve thought perhaps it _was_, that perhaps his double occasionally took some time for himself at the Triskelion—but the looks on Peter and Kate's faces betrayed another story.

"What do you mean?" Kate asked.

"Just what I said. He's spending a few days at the Triskelion," 3490 Tony replied, picking up her fork and twirling some spaghetti onto it. James, Kate and Peter exchanged glances.

"…Why?" Peter asked cautiously.

"He said it's very crowded here," 3490 Tony said, matter-of-fact.

"You're still fighting," Kate said in a low, gutted tone.

"Clint, could you please pass the parmesan? Thank you," 3490 Tony said lightly, as if she hadn't heard. The table was unusually silent as they ate. Steve's head was spinning. His double had just _left_? Just up and _left_? He couldn't comprehend it. He had a wife and children at the mansion. How could he just _go_? Steve would die for half of what his double had, arguments and all. He couldn't imagine just walking away. Steve felt weirdly guilty, like _he_ was the one doing this to 3490 Tony.

When she finished her meal, twice as quickly than everyone else, probably owing to the fact that she ate less than half as much, Tony excused herself to work in the lab again. The table remained silent after she left, until Kate spoke up in a small voice,

"James, you don't think they'll…?"

"I don't know, Kate," James replied, looking troubled. "I don't know."

The table returned to silence once more.


	74. Won't Mention It

Peter was crossing the hall after his shower, ready to hop in bed, when he heard a small, muffled sob. He walked backwards a few steps towards the door to Kate's room. It was slightly ajar, spilling yellow light into the dim hallway. He peaked inside; his twin sat on her bed in the furthest corner, leaning in the corner of two walls. Her knees were drawn up nearly to her chin, and she clutched a pink, fluffy pillow to her chest, which her face was half buried in. Peter didn't ask permission, he just walked inside and sat on the bed next to her, grabbing a purple pillow for himself. For a few minutes, he didn't speak, and neither did she.

"It's my fault," Kate said after her sobs had abated. Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"A little," Peter admitted. "But not completely. I mean, yeah, you were doing drugs, but Mom could have told Dad about it, and she didn't. And _that's_ what he's pissed about."

"But she was just being _nice _to me," Kate wailed.

"I'm not so sure," Peter said, deep in thought.

"What d'you mean?" Kate asked, sniffling.

"Well, I mean, yeah, I guess it was nice not to tell Dad, because he probably would have freaked out and grounded you for the rest of your life—but that ended up happening anyway, didn't it? And now it's worse, because he's upset with you _and_ he's mad at Mom. But like, I mean, I don't know if she did it just to be nice to you. I think she had other reasons."

"Like what?"

"Well like—you know how we don't talk about Grandpa Howard on pain of death. But I think it's probably got something to do with that. I think Mom not telling Dad about what you were doing, I think it's got something to do with stuff that happened a really long time ago," Peter said. "So, look, it's not your fault, Kate. I mean, maybe a teensy tiny bit, but not really. Mom made her choice not to tell Dad. And Dad made his choice to be really, really angry about it."

They were silent for a while, silent except for the sound of Kate sniffling occasionally. She shifted around and put her head on his shoulder. Peter rested his head on hers.

"They thought I didn't hear them," Kate said quietly. "When we were at the hospital. I've never heard them fight like that before. It was—it was so _awful_."

"At the end of the day they're not Mom and Dad," Peter said. "They're not Director Stark and Commander Rogers, they're not Captain America and Iron Man. They're just people." Kate was quiet for a moment, but then she spoke again.

"I'd rather have Mom and Dad."

"Yeah. Me too."

If they both ended up falling asleep together in Kate's bed, tangled together like they were toddlers again, neither of them mentioned it the following morning.


	75. Because I Love You

Tony watched her daughter from a distance as she sat in her room, doing her homework at the white desk that had been in her room since she was six years old. Kate tucked a lock of her long dark hair back behind her ear as she referenced something in a textbook. Kate was smart. She had always been incredibly intelligent, even if Tony was ashamed to say she often gave Peter more credit on that front. Peter liked the sciences, had an _enthusiasm_ for the things that Tony enjoyed, and his enthusiasm made him even more brilliant. He _created_ in the same way Tony always had. He had the inventive instinct from Tony and the artistic instinct from Steve.

Kate did as well, but it didn't manifest in the same ways. Kate aced every science and math class in front of her, trouncing every student standing in her way—but she had no desire to go further with it. Kate instead excelled in English, in philosophy, in any language—she spoke French and Latin and American Sign Language and Russian and frankly Tony didn't know how or where she'd found the time. She played the cello beautifully, had been a prodigy at the piano (and still would be, if that had managed to hold her interest). She was the perfect ballerina. Whatever you gave her to master she did, whether it was archery, Tae Kwon Do or string theory. Kate was a genius, but she was a genius without direction or ambition. She was aiming towards perfection and yet towards nothing. So Tony gave more credit to Peter ninety percent of the time because Kate was a genius but, because of that, consistently bored. Kate had looked into the depths of the universe and found life wanting. Kate chewed on the end of the plastic green pen she held in her hand.

Maybe that was why she was doing whatever she could get her hands on. Alcohol had no effect, so she had no milder options anyway. Maybe she was trying to make life more exciting. Maybe she was trying to find meaning in a world that seemed meaningless. Tony did not know. She was at a loss. Maybe she was trying to numb pain or anxiety or depression. Maybe Tony should have dragged her to a psychiatrist long ago, but she had always been so afraid to do so, so afraid to become her father. Tony had spent more hours of her childhood in the offices of ever revolving child psychiatrists than she had with him. They had never helped, and Tony had resented him more for insisting she bare her soul to strangers.

_What had I wanted_? Tony asked herself. It was what she had asked herself the day Kate had returned from the hospital. Tony had wanted love. She had wanted recognition. She had wanted her father to be the kind of father to sit down and _listen_ to her. But he never had been. Tony looked at the little silver and sapphire charm in her hand—Tony wouldn't let herself be him. More importantly, Tony wouldn't let Kate be _her_. She knocked on the doorframe to the open room. Kate looked up sharply. There was guilt and sadness in her expression, and it pained Tony that this was her initial reaction.

"Hi Mom," Kate said in a small voice.

"Hey kiddo," Tony said softly. "Can I come in?" Kate bit her lip and nodded. Tony entered the room. There was no other seating, so Tony took a seat on Kate's bed and patted the space next to her. Kate walked over, her shoulders hunched and her expression resigned. She was sure she was about to be chewed out, Tony figured. Tony hated that. She drew up her feet so that they were on the bed, and Kate did the same. It took Tony a moment to find the words she was searching for.

"Do you remember when we first moved you and Peter into separate rooms?" Tony asked. The ghost of a smile crossed Kate's face.

"And we fought it tooth and nail? Yes," she said.

"You two were ridiculously stubborn about it," Tony said. She could not keep the smile from her face, nor did she want to. "Your father and I were at a loss as to what to do about it. You couldn't share the same room forever, but how could we keep you from it if you didn't want to stay in your separate rooms short of locking the doors?"

"So you made Peter's room into his tech haven," Kate recalled.

"That I did. We put that desk up and gave him all sorts of science books and gadgets and made it his space and then he didn't _want_ you in there, because it was all for him. I wanted to do the same thing for you, Kate, but I didn't know how. I couldn't fill your room with science; you didn't care about it. So I put a piano in here that took up half the room and you hated it. And then I tried putting up mirrors and a ballet bar, but the mirrors scared you at night and, oh, you came running into our room that night, screaming your head off and crying and for half a minute I thought you were being chased down the hall by skrulls!" Tony said. "So I took that down the next day and put up a little dart board for your Nerf bow, but you preferred the real bows down at the archery range so that didn't hold your attention. I put up a vanity and gave you all sorts of silly make-up to play with—you _insisted_ on going to school with purple lipstick for a week—but even that didn't help. Since Peter wouldn't let you in anymore, half the time you ended up back in our bed anyway."

"I only remember the mirrors and the purple lipstick," Kate admitted, the tiniest of smiles on her face.

"I tried half a dozen other things and nothing worked," Tony said. "You were just as stubborn then as you are now, and reasoning with a stubborn six-year-old is rarely effective. I didn't know what to do. You were so unhappy, and it was all my fault. I was the one who thought first grade would be a good point to separate the two of you, give you your own space, and it had worked well for Peter but you weren't adjusting and I thought, wow, six years in and she's going to be emotionally scarred for life because I screwed this up. I wasn't sleeping and _you_ weren't sleeping and your father was being his completely-perfect self despite the fact that he hadn't been getting any sleep either, and that just irritated me more. And then one night you came back into our bedroom again, and I was _this close_ to yelling at you and telling you to sleep in your own bed like we'd been begging you to for weeks. But you snuggled up next to me, sniffling, and I knew that would only make everything worse. It would make me no better than—well. My father wasn't a model parent as you know. And if I just ignored your problem and told you to get over it, it would only make everything a thousand times worse. You really _would_ be scarred.

"But realizing that I was leaning towards your grandfather's parenting style got me thinking about me when I was a kid. What I needed, what I wanted, what I didn't get. And then it clicked. You weren't lonely. It wasn't that you didn't like your new room. You were _scared_. You didn't just want company, you didn't want to be all alone in that big room. And finally it clicked."

"So you gave me my bracelet," Kate said, able to fill in this last part of the story.

"And so I did," Tony agreed. "Do you remember what I told you?"

"That the bracelet was a reminder of how strong I was," Kate said, looking at the old silver charm bracelet that was still on her wrist. "And how you and Dad and Peter and James would always be there for me. And then you went through every charm and told me what it meant."

"Exactly. But did I ever tell you why I gave you _this_ bracelet?" Tony asked. Kate shook her head. "Well, you know it was mine. I'd had it since I was a little girl, about the same age as you were when I gave it to you, actually. Jarvis gave it to me—flesh-and-blood Jarvis, that is. He saw how upset I was every time my mother and father left for some business excursion or private vacation—which was quite often. So he got me a little charm bracelet with a single charm. And the first one was that little heart which, he said, symbolized my parents' love for me. But I knew better. After all, the bracelet was from _him_. And it meant so much to me. He kept adding charms—I got one for winning the science fair at school which Dad hadn't acknowledged, I got another when it was time to leave home and start life at MIT, and another when I earned my first doctorate. Jarvis gave me this one—" Tony reached out and touched the bracelet, landing on a little charm of an angel with wings, "—when my parents died. But I realized yesterday that I've never given _you_ a charm. I gave you the bracelet, fully formed, but the bracelet was made of things _I_ needed. Not you. So, I made you something."

Tony brought out the little charm from her hand, gently clipping it onto the rest of the bracelet. She turned it so Kate could see. It was a tiny charm of an arc reactor, little sapphires set inside to provide the blue glow. Kate's pretty blue eyes were wide as she stared at it for a moment. She met Tony's eyes, looking so confused with emotions even Tony, who knew her daughter better than Kate guessed she did, could not untangle them.

"This one is for a light in the darkness, Katie. This one is for your mother always being with you, you got that? _Always_. No matter how much shit you get yourself into," Tony said emphatically. "But even that still isn't you, so…" Tony pulled out the other charm she'd made, a simple little arrow that she clipped on the bracelet next to the arc reactor. "_That_ is to remind you of _who_ you are, Katie. Not my daughter. Not the child of Captain America and Iron Man. Not Peter's sister or Steve's little girl. But _Kate_. Strong and smart and incredibly talented." Kate's eyes filled with tears.

"Why are you being so _nice_ to me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Oh, baby," Tony said, not wanting to admit that her eyes were getting wet, too. She pulled her daughter into a rare hug. "Because I love you, that's why."


	76. Chickpea Salad Sandwich

One day passed, then two, three, four, five and still there was no sign of Commander Rogers. There was very little sign of 3490 Tony, either, as she was squirreled away in her lab, working on 'something' though the details of that 'something' had been utterly lost on Steve. In fact, Steve hadn't seen her at all since the night of day three, when Peter had asked at dinner if his father was coming home soon or not. 3490 Tony hadn't answered him, and had disappeared promptly after dinner. She hadn't shown up to any meal on day four, nor any on day five, and now it was the afternoon of day six and Steve was beginning to be truly concerned. He had no idea if 3490 Tony had been sleeping or eating at all. Peter and Kate didn't seem particularly bothered—they'd seemed to have some form of contact with her. Steve guessed they'd been down to the lab. It was now just two days to Christmas Eve—and the annual Avengers Christmas party in Stark Tower—but the holiday hardly felt cheery with 3490 Tony holed up in her lab, working on God only knew what.

Steve had never been inside 3490 Tony's lab—he didn't think any of the 199999 Avengers had (much to Tony's consternation). But he gathered his courage and headed to the door that he knew led to the basement, reached out, and knocked.

"Director Stark has approved your entrance," JARVIS told him moments later as Steve heard the click of a lock coming undone. Steve opened the door slowly, then descended the stairs. It was a bit dark and glum in the lab. The floor was a simple grey concrete, likely for easy clean-up. There were a few steel tables, littered with equipment and half-finished devices. In the back, Steve could see a couple of Iron Man suits, stationary but fully assembled. There was one small area cordoned off with a sofa, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a TV. Well, that explained how 3490 Tony was still alive, at least. The woman herself was busy working at one of the tables, screwing something violently into something else. Her hair was up high on her head in a bun that was half falling out. She just wore a grey tank top, splattered with grease stains, and sweatpants. She didn't look up as he came in.

"What can I do for you, Captain Rogers?" she asked. Steve walked over to her and set down the plate he carried on her workbench. 3490 Tony set down her project and looked up at him.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Uh, well, it's chickpea salad. Like chicken salad but with chickpeas instead," Steve said, looking at the neat little wrap. 3490 Tony just continued to stare at him, so he kept talking. "Uh, it's chickpea, celery, spring onion, mayo—"

"No, no, I meant—why are you bringing me food?" 3490 Tony asked. Her gaze was unrelenting. It was the most undivided attention 3490 Tony had ever afforded him, and he felt his face heating.

"I—you—we haven't seen you upstairs so, I just thought…I just thought, well, that you might not be eating. Or at least not well. So I figured I'd bring you something just in case," Steve said, stumbling over himself just a bit. 3490 Tony continued to stare at him. "Not that—not that you aren't perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Because you are. Obviously—I just—"

"Ok, soldier, slow down before you hurt yourself," 3490 Tony said, the right side of her mouth quirking upward in amusement. Steve felt his ears burning. He'd never been able to talk to women. 3490 Tony poked the wrap, then looked up at Steve with one eyebrow raised. "Chickpea?"

"Kate made it," Steve explained. "She said you'd like it."

"Kate is overly obsessed with health food," 3490 Tony said. Nevertheless she picked up the wrap, still eyeing it suspiciously.

"I had one," Steve offered. "They're good."

"I don't trust your tastebuds," Tony said. "Steve's always eating crazy health food. It's where Kate gets it from." 3490 Tony was still examining the sandwich like it might have been poisoned.

"Oh. Uh. Well," Steve said, not having anything else to say. Tony eyed him for a moment, then took a cautious bite. It only took her a moment to nod.

"Mmm. Mmhm," she said. She swallowed. "Not bad." She put the wrap back on the plate. She was back to watching him. Steve felt his blush heat up again.

"I, uh, I guess I'll just," he said, making a move to leave.

"You know you never really answered my question," 3490 Tony said.

"What question was that, ma'am?" Steve asked, legitimately puzzled.

"Why are _you_ bringing me food?" she asked. Steve couldn't miss her heavy emphasis. He knew he must look like a tomato by now.

"I—you could have been going hungry or—or—starving yourself on purpose, or—I don't know, I just wanted—"

"To make sure I was ok," 3490 Tony finished for him. "I know." She picked up her project again, focusing on it. "My Steve has always done the same. But that's the thing, isn't it? You're not him."

"If I've overstepped my bounds, ma'am, I'm very sorry—" Steve started, feeling humiliation sink in his stomach. She knew. She _knew_. Of course, how could she not? Tony just waved him off, screwdriver in hand, interrupting what he was going to say.

"Chill," she said. "There was no overstepping of bounds." She finished tightening a screw and then looked back up at him. He felt frozen, unsure of whether or not to just go. "You know if this were your permanent universe I would just tell you to get out more and go date people. Actually that's not true. If this were your permanent universe, I would tell Clint to take you to a strip club and then out clubbing and systematically desensitize you to the twenty-first century so you might be encouraged to start dating or even just engage in some casual hook ups to get your mind off things. Sadly, this is not your permanent universe and knowing your luck, you'd fall madly in love with some woman here and then get dramatically ripped away and for some reason be unable to return on pain of the collapse of the multiverse or something." She sighed deeply. There was pain in her eyes. "I can't help you, Steve. And that kills me, it really does, but I can't help you. So I'm going to give you the best advice I possibly can, and please, don't take this the wrong way." She paused, and in her focused gaze there was enormous pain. "But stay away from me."

Steve couldn't help it—he winced at that. He wanted nothing more than to run out of the room, tail tucked between his legs, or melt into a puddle on the floor, but neither of those things were an option. 3490 Tony grabbed another tool off the table, busying herself again.

"I don't want to be a dick about it," she said. "But this isn't helping you. At all. This is making everything worse for you. And you know, at the moment, it's kind of shitty for me, too. So just—just keep your distance, yeah? I don't mean move out of the mansion or anything. Just—go out a bit more. Visit some museums. Drag Pepper—either Pepper—with you. She likes art. Uh, don't fall for her either, though, that's probably a bad idea. Watch old sci-fi with Bruce, he'll like that. Go play basketball with your Tony. Take Natasha to the ballet. Bond with your team. It'll be good for you."

"Yes ma'am," Steve spoke quietly. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Cap," 3490 Tony said. She looked apologetic. "I'm sorry too—I didn't want to have to mention it. I know this must be embarrassing, even if you honestly don't have anything to be embarrassed about. I just think it's better if we don't…get close."

"I understand," Steve said, thoroughly humiliated. "I think I'll just be going now." Tony nodded.

"That's—yeah," she said. He heard her take a deep breath as he turned around, heading for the stairs. "Wait." Steve stopped and turned, surprised to find her suddenly in front of him, and closer than she'd ever been. Well, excepting just once, when he was the accidental object of her affections. But the sudden small, warm hands on either side of his face didn't feel accidental. Nor did, a moment later, her hot lips on his. Steve was surprised, but he was one to just go with it whenever a woman sprung surprise kisses on him. It had been so long since anyone had touched him in any affectionate way. It surprised him how much he missed and craved physical contact with another human being, and he didn't even notice it when his own arms wrapped around 3490 Tony's slight body. The kiss didn't last long, and it was relatively chaste, all things considered. When they parted, she gave him a small smile and kissed him on the cheek.

"Had to give you a proper send off," she said, stepping lightly out of his arms. "Closure and all that. Now go make friends and forget about this."

Steve rarely argued with a lady. He left up the stairs without another word.


	77. Aloud

It was three in the morning when Tony heard the door to the library open and the subsequent cursing from his double upon seeing him inside.

"God fucking damn it," Antonella swore, shutting the door behind her and marching over to the liquor cabinet. "Why are we so fucking similar?" Tony sat in one of the cozy leather armchairs, still writing out plans and equations, trying to get all the math right for his secret project. Obviously, he was working on paper, which probably would have been suspicious if Antonella weren't obviously already distracted, if she hadn't been distracted and distraught for days. She pulled out a crystal glass with force, popped the top on a wine bottle, and poured. She took a sip.

"I thought you were sober," Tony stated evenly.

"It's Welch's, genius," Antonella said with bite.

"Then why do you keep it in the liquor cabinet?" Tony asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Because I like playing cruel jokes on myself? Fuck, I don't know," Antonella said, taking the glass and the bottle with her and plopping in the armchair across from Tony. She turned it towards him and shook it slightly. It was, indeed, Welch's sparkling grape juice. She set the bottle down on an end table and sipped at the glass, which bubbled appropriately. "No. I do know. I've gotten shit faced in here so many times this has become my have-a-breakdown spot. And if I can't get drunk I'm going to get _fake_ drunk. I'll go into a sugar coma with this juice shit—I swear to God this is 99% pure sugar, just liquidized." She took another sip. "Is this your spot too?" Tony shrugged.

"Haven't been back to the mansion in years, not since Mom and Dad died," he said. "Before then? I guess. I got blackout in here after they died."

"Huh."

"Huh what?" Tony asked. Antonella just shook her head.

"I tried. To get completely drunk in here when they died, I tried. But Steve wouldn't let me. I told him to fuck off, to let me do what I wanted, my parents were _dead_ and if I wanted to get blackout drunk and sleep away the next week or month or year I was entitled to it—but he stayed and said that if I was going to get blackout drunk, I was going to do it with him there and—well, that ruined it. And I can remember just hitting him on the chest over and over again and crying my eyes out and eventually I guess I stopped hitting him. And he just—stayed. Put me to bed. And that was the end of that. I always figured I'd've given myself alcohol poisoning or choked on my own vomit or something if he hadn't stayed. I guess you're a testament to the fact that that's not true," Antonella mused. "Dunno what that says about me, or my marriage. I'm not sure I want to think about it too much."

"Well, then just go into your sugar coma and you won't have to," Tony said wryly.

"Yeah, if only it wouldn't take me several bottles of this sticky sweet shit to get there," Antonella said. She examined the glass. "God, if I weren't pregnant I would've gone for the good shit in that cabinet." Tony froze, but Antonella kept right on talking. "Fuck twenty years of sobriety, I'd throw all the AA chips in the fucking trash. I don't even think my kids could keep me away from it right now. I don't think I have the strength left. You're the first person I've told that. Not about the drinking, though, that too, I guess. _Pregnant_—Christ, I didn't want to say it aloud, but it's out there now."

"Um," Tony said intelligently. Antonella just rolled her eyes at him.

"I don't expect you to say anything," she said. "You're just here. Convenient ears. All the more convenient that they're almost just my own." Antonella took a long drink of her sparkling grape juice as Tony tried to gather his thoughts, which seemed to have scattered to the wind.

"_Why_ are you pregnant?" was the brilliant thing that came out of his mouth.

"Well, Tony, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much," Antonella began sarcastically, not deigning his answer with a real response.

"That—came out wrong, admittedly. I just—did you plan on that?" Antonella's answering death glare was reply enough. "Ok, so why are you _still_ pregnant? And why—why the kids in the first place? There are or were probably better times to ask that question. Oh well. As you said, it's out there now." Antonella sighed deeply, looking suddenly exhausted. Or maybe she had looked exhausted the whole time but her mood had masked it. Tony didn't know. Antonella set her sugary drink aside.

"It's complicated."

"I might not have a computer for a brain, but I'm pretty sure I can figure it out," Tony said, watching her rather intently. Tony still had some difficulty comprehending her face. It was odd, how much of himself he could see in it, yet how feminine her face still was—it was smooth and wrinkle free despite her age (Tony suspected Extremis had a hand in that), and there was a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her cheekbones were pronounced, her eyelashes long, and her face a pleasing oval shape. Her nose was his mother's nose, a tiny little thing with a little 'ski slope' at the end, so unlike his own. Her hair had his mother's curl but his father's color. It was like she was a long lost sister, not a version of himself, and this was the way he viewed her, most of the time. But sometimes he couldn't help but remember how similar they really were.

"Peter and Kate were accidents," Antonella said. "Just the same as this one."

"But you kept them," Tony pointed out. "Was anything else ever contemplated or did you want to keep them from the moment you found out?"

"Oh hell no," Antonella said with a laugh. "I was twenty-nine and pregnant with my boyfriend's child, a boyfriend who had _just gone through_ a divorce, who already had a five-year-old child, who I'd only been officially dating for _nine months_. I had a dangerous job and insane business hours. I didn't sleep for days, was practically on a caffeine drip, and still deeply craving a drink. I wasn't fit to be a mother. I knew that. I told Steve I was pregnant—and I was a sobbing mess when I did it—and then told him I was making an appointment at the clinic and that would be the end of it." Antonella looked at Tony. It always startled Tony, how her eyes were the same exact shade and shape of his own. If one could look at eyes alone, they would never be able to tell the two of them apart. Tony thought, erroneously, of the old saying, of eyes being "windows to the soul". He shook the thought away as soon as it occurred.

"What made you change your mind?" Tony asked.

"What do you think?" she asked. "A thousand things, starting with Steve. He was thrilled and crushed in the span of about sixty seconds when I told him—thrilled I was pregnant, crushed that I was set on terminating the pregnancy. He tried not to show it. He tried to be supportive. He held me when I cried and assured me that I wasn't an awful person." She smiled at Tony, a bit wryly. "I know Steve, though. I knew how he felt about it. But nevertheless he came with me to the clinic and held my hand while we waited for the doctor to call me to the back while I was just hoping against hope that no one would recognize us and try to snap a picture—conveniently this was before cell phone cameras had really gotten off the ground, otherwise I'm sure someone would have.

"And as we sat there he told me—as he'd been telling me for the past two weeks—that he would support me in whatever decision I would make. He told me that he would happily be a father to any children we ever had, whenever we wanted to have any, if ever we wanted to have any. I mean, we weren't even married but he—he was already planning a future for us. I kind of knew he had been from the moment we'd gotten together, but it was still kind of jarring. I was kind of just waiting for the moment when I screwed up big enough that he would leave," she said. Tony snorted.

"Have to say I know the feeling," he said. They shared a knowing glance. It was strange to have someone to commiserate with on the subject. Tony had felt that way about Pepper. And then he _had_ screwed it up, and she _had_ left—just as Antonella's Steve had finally, apparently, left her.

"Well, anyway. I kind of figured that _this _would be the moment, you know? If not the pregnancy, than the abortion. But he was still there, holding my hand and trying to soothe me and keep my mind off the procedure. And then he told me that he would always be there for me. _Always_. He promised, he swore, and I knew Steve's promises were as good as gold, that a swear he made to a friend was as sacred to him as a marriage vow. And so I turned to him and made him swear that if I went through with the pregnancy he would always be there to raise the kids when I couldn't, that he would take care of them and make up for me being a shitty mother," Tony said. Her mouth twisted into a bitter grimace, but she quickly shook it off. "He told me not to be so ridiculous, that I would be a great mother, but that yes, he promised, he swore, he would always be there for the kids.

"So I got up, dragging him with me, and told the clerk at the desk I was canceling my appointment. We left and…well, there are only a few times in life I can remember Steve being happier than he was when we left that clinic," Antonella said. She smiled a soft, small smile. "For me, that made it worth it in that moment. Even though I knew I had eight months of unpleasantness to look forward to, even though I knew I'd have to quit the Avengers for the time being, even though I was _terrified_ about being a mother—seeing that look on his face? It was so worth it. So very worth it." Antonella grabbed her sparkling juice again and sipped at it.

"And now?" Tony asked. Antonella shrugged.

"I don't know. We have—or, fuck, _had_, I don't even know anymore—a good little family life going here. It's surprisingly pleasant. I never…I never figured I would be the one with 2.5 kids and the white picket fence and all. Didn't want it. I always thought that was kind of—boring. Ordinary. But our lives are pretty interesting outside of the family, and I wouldn't give my kids up for anything now. I like a little bit of ordinary amidst the crazy that is being an Avenger. Keeps us all grounded. Another pregnancy, another baby is an inconvenience, for sure. But I—I know Steve will want to keep it. And as much of an inconvenience as another baby will be, as much as I didn't ever _intend_ to have another, I have to say I won't mind adding to our family again," Antonella said. She looked deep in thought.

"Why haven't you told him, then? If he wants the baby, and you're going to keep it…I don't know, don't parents always get excited about that sort of thing?" Tony asked. "New life and beginnings and whatever?" Antonella shot him a sardonic grin.

"Oh yeah, 'hey sweetie, I'm pregnant again'—that'll solve all our problems," Antonella said. She ran her fingertip along the top of the crystal glass. "There wasn't a good time, before…I was…testing. I was trying to figure out if the baby would be born with the Extremis virus because…that wouldn't spell good things. I would have aborted the pregnancy were that the case. But as far as I can tell, it won't be affected. And then there just wasn't a good time, and…then Kate happened and…I didn't want him to stay because I'm pregnant. I wanted him to stay because he forgave me, because he loved me. But I didn't get that, and he left. And I don't want him to come back because I'm pregnant, either. I want him to come back because he _wants_ to come back. Thing is—tomorrow's Christmas Eve. And I don't think he's coming back." Tony didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all. Antonella laughed, but it was humorous. "You know, funny thing—our first kiss was at Christmas. Well, our first _real_ kiss, anyway. Under the mistletoe and all that cliched nonsense—everybody hooting and hollering and daring us to really do it. And we'd been tip-toeing around _us_ for so long, so uncertainly…But we were under the mistletoe, so. I was the one to kiss him—but he was the one to dip me and sweep me off my feet after I did. It was—sappy." Antonella smiled. "Very sappy. I miss sappy. I miss Steve."

They were silent again for a few minutes. Antonella finished her sparking grape juice and poured another glass. Tony was at a loss for words. He shut the notebook he had been working in.

"For what it's worth," Tony said, staring at the red rug beneath them, the one he'd spilled coke on when he was six, the one that _still had that stain,_ in the exact same spot, a universe away, "I think you've made a hell of a lot more of your life than I ever did. So you've got that going for you."

"Nah," Antonella replied, and Tony looked up at her in confusion. "Not more. Just sooner." She finished her second glass. "You all are just starting out, Tony. But that means you've got years and years ahead of you to work it all out." She picked up the bottle. "Sure you don't want any?"

"Oh, what the hell," Tony replied. And that was how Pepper found them in the morning practically drunk on sugar and exhaustion and giggling about science and memories only Tonys could understand.


	78. Shield

James slunk down into the lab, almost dreading this encounter. Tony hadn't spoken to him alone since the Kate Incident, and he knew what she was going to say. He felt a knot in his gut. He would deserve everything she could throw at him. Kate should have never been at House of M. James should have _protected_ her, not encouraged her. He was an awful big brother. He shut the door behind him and trudged down the stairs. He could see Tony sitting at one of the steel lab tables, fiddling with Dum-E's circuitry. The little bot's hand whirred suddenly as sparks went out.

"Well, I wouldn't have to do this if you would stop trying to make me smoothies and then spill them all over yourself," Tony stated. The bot's hand whirred again and beeped as if in protest. "I can take care of _myself_, Dum-E. Promise."

"Tony?" James announced himself, taking advantage of a moment when the soldering iron wasn't turned on. Tony turned to him and smiled, which took him aback. "Peter said you wanted to see me?"

"I did! I do! Give me two seconds," Tony said. She turned back to Dum-E with the iron. His hand whirred again, but only moments later she pulled away and closed the flap with a satisfying snap. She took a screwdriver to put the panel back in place. "No more smoothies, Dum-E." The little bot whirred again and wheeled away. James gave the bot a pat as it passed him.

"I've been expecting this conversation, Tony," James said, moving to her table. Tony looked perplexed, but James barreled on, "and whatever you have to say, I know you're right. I know—I know I shouldn't have gone with Kate. I should have told her to stay home. Barring that, I should have kept a closer eye on her. I should have protected her, and I didn't. I'm sorry."

"Oh," Tony said, blinking for a moment. "That's not—well, I mean, of course you shouldn't encourage your underage sister to go to a nightclub and use party drugs but—I'd rather you have gone with her than tried to get her to stay home. Kate's not exactly one to take direction well. If you had stayed home, she still would have gone and—well, I don't want to think what would have happened to her if you and Francis weren't there. Tudo might have called an ambulance—or he might not have, because he was dealing E to a minor who shouldn't have even been in the club in the first place. So. I guess, please discourage Kate's risky behaviors when you can but, when you can't, just—keep an eye out. I think you did fine. Kate's responsible for Kate—and I'm responsible for Kate—that's not on you."

"You…didn't ask me down here to yell at me?" James asked uncertainly. Tony snorted.

"When have I _ever_ yelled at you? No, don't be stupid, I'm giving you a Christmas present early," Tony said, matter-of-fact. She got up from the table and went to her personal desk in the corner. She pulled out a little blue object from the drawer. "I wouldn't, except that I want to make sure it fits and is in good working order first."

"Does this have to do with the time you called me down here to measure my arm and take my fingerprints?" James asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed!" Tony said, approaching him with a grin. "Hold out your right arm, I'll put it on." James obeyed, and Tony attached the smooth blue object to his arm. It was smooth like a smart phone, and colored blue. It was oval shaped, and flat on the side that made contact with his forearm and gently curved on the top. The straps James knew were made of Tony's special smart fabric—it would read his vitals.

"What does it do?" James asked as Tony made adjustments.

"You'll see. I can always change the design, if you're not happy with it. I just figured I'd go with traditional. But if you come up with something on your own, I can change it," Tony said, not answering. She checked the strength of the strap and had him wave his arm frantically to make sure it wouldn't come loose. She nodded, satisfied. "All right. Touch the surface with any of your fingers on your left hand. It's coded to you—and to me, so I could make adjustments, but, that's it. Go on." James gave her a skeptical look—Tony had been known to prank people with her 'experiments' upon occasion—but then did as she asked. As soon as his index finger touched the cool metal, the device sprung to life.

"It's a…projector?" James asked. There in thin air was a shield like his father's. It was clearly a holograph, and it moved when he moved his arm.

"Kind of," Tony said. "Except one little difference…" Tony picked up a crowbar from the floor. "Don't flinch."

"Uh," James said. He held his position even as his stepmother swung the crowbar right at him—well, not at him, James knew, but at the projection. He was _almost_ shocked when he heard a loud _clang_. The crowbar had bounced right off, as if there were a real shield where the illusion was. "What..?" Tony just grinned.

"I've been working on _this_ one for a long time. Touchable holographs—they're just thin air until they come into contact with…well, it doesn't matter how it works, point is, this is as close to a magic shield as you're ever going to get. Unless you talk to Thor in which case I'll be highly insulted," Tony said. James just blinked, still uncomprehending. "It's an energy shield. It can also expand, see?" Tony moved her finger on the smooth blue surface, and the shield grew in size. "Or contract. And if you press this here—" Tony pressed some invisible button that James could not see, "—then you can actually pick it up and toss it. It won't stay 'live' for long though—it'll disappear after about two minutes, tops, without the control panel. This is not _quite_ as strong as vibranium, but it's light and it'll fend off bullets, so it should do for you for now." Tony beamed at him. "So, what do you think?"

James was speechless. He had no idea what to say. He was used to Tony making grand gestures, used to her inventing some crazy new piece of tech solely for the amusement of her children, used to her kind eccentricities—but this was something different all together. Tony's face fell at his silence.

"It's the shield, isn't it?" Tony asked. "We can redesign it, James. I know you don't want to just—just carry your father's shield forever. I get that. I just—it was just a convenient template, so—"

"No, no, Tony, it's not that," James said, feeling choked with emotion. "It's—you made this for me?"

"Well, Reed Richards certainly didn't," Tony sniffed.

"But—_why_?" James asked. Tony cocked her head to the side.

"What do you mean, 'why'? You're my stepson, that's why. You're family, that's why. You're a good kid, and you're about to go to war and get shot at, that's why," Tony said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's Christmas, did you forget? Merry Christmas, Jamie." James didn't know what to do. He felt lost. He had nothing to say. So he just didn't say anything. He threw his arms around his stepmother and gave her a hug instead.

"Oh," he heard her say. She patted his back, perhaps a little awkwardly, and hugged him back.

"Thanks, Tony," he said hoarsely.

"Of course," Tony replied. He let her go, feeling a bit embarrassed. He still couldn't quite believe the gift she had given him.

"Why didn't—why didn't you give it to Dad?" James asked, still a bit bewildered. Tony snorted and rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, are we talking about your father? Born-in-1918 Steven Grant Rogers? Still submits eighty percent of his SHIELD paperwork _in paper_ Steve Rogers? And you think I'd ever get him to use anything other than that shield he took through World War II?" Tony asked. James chuckled a bit.

"No, I guess not. Dumb question," he said.

"Besides. I think it's about time you got your own superhero gear," Tony said with a shrug. "You deserve it, Jamie."

"I'm not a hero," James said. "I haven't done anything heroic."

"No?" Tony asked. "Then you and I have very different definitions of the word 'hero'. You've stepped in this house again and again and again even with the Alts here. And that—that takes a special kind of bravery, James." James just shrugged, examining his gift instead. Tony put a hand over his. James reluctantly met her gaze. "I'm sorry, you know. About how you found out. If I'd known you were coming home, I would have warned you." James shrugged.

"I'm kind of glad you didn't," he admitted. "I might've chickened out. Told Dad over the phone about Dwyer. Then he would've come storming onto the base and made a scene, so. Better this way."

"You've been so brave, dealing with them," Tony said. "I'm really proud of you, James. Your father is, too. Incredibly proud." James felt his gut twist.

"I'm not nine anymore," James said. "They don't scare me."

"They scare _me_," Tony said softly. James swallowed and looked away.

"Then why'd you bring them home?" James asked. Tony sighed.

"It's…complicated. I think we have the best chance of keeping an eye on them here. We've put precautions in place—you know about those. I'd rather them try to plan something under our noses than at the Triskelion or elsewhere. Better chance of catching them if they're around all the time. Doesn't mean I like it, James," Tony said.

"I know," James said. He turned to her and smiled. "Thank you for the present, Tony. It really—it means a lot."

"You're more than welcome, Jamie," Tony said. "Now, take that with you. Show it off to everybody at the Christmas party tonight. Brag a little. Have people throw shoes at it. It'll be great fun." James laughed.

"Ok, Tony," he agreed. Then he hesitated. "Is—is Dad coming?" Tony gave him a bright smile that he knew was forced, and he winced a little internally.

"Well, we'll find out, won't we?" she said.

"Yeah, guess so," he said. "Well, I guess I'll just…go see if Kate needs help with the cookies."

"You do that," Tony agreed, but as James turned to go, she called him back. "James?"

"Yeah?"

"You know—no matter what happens with your father and I—you're still my son too. You got that?" Tony asked him. James felt his throat tighten.

"Yeah. Yeah I've got that. Thanks Tony. Merry Christmas," he said. He left the lab after that, breathing deeply and staving off the waves of emotion he was experiencing. This was no time to get weepy. Kate had cookies to bake. Christmas depended on it. With that ridiculous mission in mind, James headed to the kitchen. Better a ridiculous mission on his mind than everything else.


	79. Ugly Sweaters

December 24, 2016, a Saturday. It was Christmas Eve, the day of the Annual Avenger's Christmas Party. She hadn't seen or spoken to her husband in a week and a half. That hadn't been _her_ choice, though. She'd called him, asking him to call her back, but he didn't answer. She'd sent him texts, but he didn't answer those either. It was growing steadily more infuriating.

It had taken Tony a little while, but in Steve's absence, realization had dawned on her. What Steve said was _absolutely unacceptable_. It was a low blow and it was somewhat unfounded and Tony was beyond hurt—she was _furious_. Did she still feel guilty about what happened? Sure, but she finally realized that _Steve was at fault_ for that argument, too. It wasn't all on her. She should've broken his nose for that dig about Bernie.

Tony was not certain whether or not that was what she was actually going to do once she finally got to give him a piece of her mind. She felt quite indecisive on what, precisely, she wished to speak with Steve about. She only knew that they _had_ to talk. The radio silence was killing her. Not only was it killing her, but the kids felt it acutely. From what she understood, Steve _was_ answering their calls, their texts. But he wasn't around. And it was _Christmas fucking Eve_ for Christ's sake!

Since Steve was being so bullheaded about speaking with her—and she was not unfamiliar with Steve's bullheadedness—Tony had resorted to slightly underhanded measures. She had sent out a text, copied to everyone on the invitation list for the Avenger's Annual Christmas Eve party, telling them the party now began at four, two hours early. She had then immediately texted everyone _but_ Steve to ignore her previous message, that the party was still set to begin at six. Perhaps it wasn't the nicest thing to do, but she knew Steve wouldn't miss the Christmas party; it was tradition, after all, that he read _The Polar Express_ to the younger kids (and secretly captivated adults) before they were sent to bed for the evening. Aside from that sacred tradition, she knew he would be there for Kate and Peter. They would never forgive him if he wasn't, and Tony still believed that neither would he.

So Tony waited in the empty penthouse, cleared of furniture except for a long refreshments table near the back. Though it was empty, it was heavily decorated with all sorts of Christmas items. In years past, they would decorate the penthouse as a family, but as the kids got older they saved the Christmas decorations to doing the tree at the mansion and hired a decorator to take charge of the penthouse. There was also a tree in the penthouse, a truly massive one that was positively brimming with ornaments. Every year the Avengers would all spend the night in the tower and celebrate the holiday together in the morning—a remainder from the time when none of them had families of their own. They would open gifts from one another and then return home for their separate Christmas celebrations. It worked well, Tony thought. They were truly one big family. Only Tony didn't much feel family oriented on this particular day. For the most part, she just felt drained. She looked at her watch and tapped her foot impatiently. 4:05. Steve was fashionably late.

Unless he wasn't coming. Tony wondered if he'd gotten word of her plot, had heard that her order for the party to begin at four had been returned to six. She wondered if he was just planning to show up late in the evening regardless of when the party began. Tony wasn't sure, but the possibilities made her anxious. Nevertheless, she would stand there, she resolved, until six o'clock when her duties as hostess began.

She nearly jumped when she heard the elevator's bell. The doors slid open, revealing her husband. He walked into the penthouse, a lopsided, vaguely cynical smile on his face. He had his duffel bag slung over his back and carried a couple of brightly wrapped presents in his hands.

"I had a feeling," he said.

"And yet you still came," Tony said. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

"And yet I still came," Steve said. He was dressed in blacks slacks and a simple Christmas sweater. Christmas sweaters were standard attire for the party. Some years they made it a contest to see who could find the most hideous one of all. Tony had won one year—she'd found a sweater with a Christmas tree on the front which lit up with full Christmas lights. If you squeezed one of the ornaments at the bottom, it would play _O Christmas Tree_. Unfortunately, they squeezed it one too many times that night and it ended up playing in an endless loop. Finally having gone mad from the song, Tony ended up stripping down to her bra and stomping the electronic music box into oblivion. It had taken some effort, and even after she put the sweater back on it had a tendency to randomly play the song, which now sounded low and demonic. She disposed of the sweater as soon as the party ended.

"I wanted to talk to you," Tony said.

"That much is obvious," Steve said. Tony's cheeks colored.

"I don't think you have a right to be a smart ass right now, Rogers," she snapped. Steve looked surprised by her outburst, and he winced slightly. _Good_. "You know, I realized something after you left. I realized that the fight we had? That wasn't all on me. And I replayed some of the things you said and—Christ, you know what? I'm _this_ far away from marching right up to you and breaking your goddamn pretty face. How _dare_ you, Steve? How dare you compare what I did to what Bernie did to you? How dare you compare my _lie of omission_ that I made thinking I was _protecting_ the both of you to your bitter ex-wife who essentially stole your son away from you? How fucking _dare you_." All of the anger Tony had felt over the past few days came flooding back to her, filling her veins with hot passion. Steve opened his mouth. "NO! No, I'm not done! You don't get to talk, I listened to plenty already! That was a low blow and I won't _tolerate _it. I don't need to be treated like that, no matter what you think I did or didn't do. It is _not_ my fault that Kate overdosed. She did that to _herself_. I don't spoil everything I touch—I've got Peter as proof against that. God only knows how, but he's a perfect kid.

"I might have kept information from you about Kate, but that doesn't mean I caused her overdose. Do you know how I know that? Because I'm not sure you would have done a _damn thing different_ with her than I have over the last three months. I was _watching _her. I had Happy and JARVIS reporting to me. I was _trying_ to let her live a normal life and figure her shit out on her own. I'd _been_ to psychologists and centers and hospitals at her age and God knows not one of them did me a damn bit of good except to make me more resentful. I wanted to give Kate _space_ to show that I _trusted_ her so that maybe, just _maybe_ she'd figure things out. And she didn't, and my call must have been wrong. But what have you done, since Kate got home from the hospital? Have you decided we should send her to rehab? Have you called in doctors? Have you even been fucking watching her? No, no you've been hiding at the Triskelion. _I've _been dealing with the fallout from this, Steve. _All_ of the fall out, fall out which you _made worse by leaving!_ Fuck, Steve, what am I supposed to tell our children when they ask me when you're coming back? What can I possibly do to let Kate know that our fighting wasn't her fault other than tell her that over and over? I can talk to her until I'm blue in the face, but whether or not she _believes_ me is another story entirely," Tony was ranting, she knew, but she wasn't even close to stopping. Somewhere along the way, her rage had mixed with despair, and her despair with a very raw pain. She was vaguely aware of the hot tears prickling behind her eyes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks, but she didn't care. It wouldn't be the first time Steven Rogers had seen her cry.

"What am I supposed to tell our children when I don't know the answers myself? And it's not—this is entirely _unfair_ of you, Steve. Go ahead, punish me all you like, be a dick about it as much as you want, but don't punish them for this. You promised me, _swore_ to me that day at the clinic that if I chose to carry to term that you would _be there_, that you would always be there for them. You swore I would _never_ have to do this alone, but I have been _so alone_ this week," Tony's throat tightened, and the tears spilled over. "I haven't known what to say, what to do—I feel like a horrible mother because I can't be there for them, because the minute I try my strength will crumble and I _cannot_ break down in front of them, not when they need me to be strong. I feel like a horrible mother because you _told me_ I'm a horrible mother, you called me careless and neglectful and—shit, Steve, maybe I am but that's why I_ made you promise_, so that you could be responsible and understanding and loving with them when I couldn't. It's not just—it's not just that _I_ haven't had anyone to lean on. That—that I can live with, Steve, it's that you've ditched _them_. Because you're _not_ there. You're not there at breakfast, and you're not there when they get home from school, and you're not there when we sit down to dinner and it just makes your absence that much bigger."

Tony hadn't known what she was going to say to Steve before he'd gotten there, but now it seemed that she couldn't _stop_. She couldn't even identify the look he was giving her, though that may have been more due to the fact that it was getting harder to see through the tears than her inability to read her husband's expressions.

"I want you to come home. No, I _demand_ that you come home, Steven Grant. Hate me all you want. We'll put a bed in the art room, or I can sleep in my workshop; you want to draw up divorce papers, you go ahead, but you will _be there_ every morning, and you will _be there_ every evening, and you will paint with Kate and you will finish that goddamn motherfucking bike with Peter that should have been done months ago because they _need _you, Steve, and because we agreed, we _agreed_ that we would be there for them as much as we could every day because in our line of work you never know which breakfast with them is going to be your _last_," Tony choked out the last bit. She was struggling to keep whatever semblance of composure she had left as she quickly swiped the tears from her eyes. She could see more clearly. Steve's expression was one of pain, horrible pain. And Tony for a moment, through her anger, felt her gut twist in agony, because no matter how upset she was, this was still her fault, too. No matter how upset she was, she hated hurting him.

"Tony," he said, his voice ragged. "Tony, I—" He took a deep breath, and Tony was surprised. He was doing his best not to cry. She had seen him tear up a few times—when the twins were born, when they were married—but had only ever seen him cry _once_. That was the day he found out what had really happened to Sergeant James Barnes. But this, well, this was definitely him struggling to regain control of himself. "Tony, I don't want to sleep in the art room."

Tony felt her stomach plummet, and a horrible terror overwhelmed her senses momentarily. It may have been another very brief anxiety attack, to which Tony had been prone ever after Afghanistan. Her heart felt like it had stopped, and then it felt as if it would beat out of her chest. He was leaving her. He was well and truly leaving her, leaving her alone forever. He was leaving her, with her two children to watch over, with one on the way even if he didn't know it, doing everything he'd sworn never to do, breaking every promise he'd ever made, doing everything Tony had ever been afraid of. She'd grown too codependent. She couldn't do this alone, not anymore, and especially not _now_.

"You—you can have the bedroom, then," she tried weakly. Steve shook his head.

"No, Tony, you misunderstand me—I—I want to come home," he said. "But I—I want to come _home_. With you." He crossed the space between them and slowly, ever so slowly and cautiously, as though she were a frightened animal that might bolt at any moment, he took her hands in his. She felt her heartbeat slow and the panic abate. "I…we have things that we need to work out. This is—this is hard and frankly I think…I think a marriage counselor might be a good idea at this point, but I'm _not_ leaving you, Tony, and I would _never_ leave Kate and Peter and I—I can understand why you might think that, but it still hurts that you could and—" Steve slowed and swallowed. He took a breath. "I'm not going to throw away ten years of happy marriage over this, Tony. If things—if things had gone another way, then maybe, I won't lie, I—I, there are certain things I couldn't forgive, but the situation being what it is, Tony, I won't do it. I can't. And I can't throw away 26 years of friendship. I can't. I love you, Tony. Unconditionally. Even if you gave me cause to hate you, I would love you still." He sighed and shook his head.

"Well I guess we're just a mess then, huh?" Tony spoke, though she barely had a voice.

"A bit," he agreed. "All right, a lot. But I—I brought my duffel with me because I was planning to—to ask your forgiveness and come home. I want to work through this. And it's Christmas."

"Christmas Eve_,_" Tony corrected hoarsely. Steve smiled slightly.

"So do I have your permission to come back?" he asked. Tony took a breath.

"Yes," she said. "Yes of course. I love you too, you know."

"I know," Steve said.

There was no great embrace, no passionate kiss. After a few heavily emotional moments, Steve kissed his wife's cheek gently, and they moved the presents he'd brought to a spot under the tree. They didn't have long until the start of the party, so Tony had to spend her time redoing her make-up while Steve set up the refreshment table. There would be time for great declarations later. Much later, after the wounds had healed, after they'd worked through the things they'd said, perhaps with some professional help. There would be time for Tony to tell Steve about the secret perched on the tip of her tongue—the morning, perhaps, almost like a Christmas gift. They would have time for passionate embraces and the stuff that romance novels were made up of. But for the moment, they could not concern themselves with that. For the moment, it was enough to hold a temporary truce, enough to spend time with family and be together for the holiday.


	80. On the Cold Glass

JARVIS played Christmas music overhead, and everyone happily mingled—even Peter's parents seemed to have reconciled. It was December 24, 2016, and Peter's favorite day of the year. _Christmas Eve_. With it came the promise of extended family, of badly singing Christmas carols as Mom played the piano, of stuffing your face with Christmas cookies before feasting on Christmas ham at dinner, of embarrassing Christmas sweaters, of hearing _The Polar Express_, of peeping out of windows in the night and listening carefully for the sound of sleigh bells. Well, not that Peter did that last part anymore. Nope.

Peter stood next to his twin, talking with Torrun, Francis, and James. Torrun was eighteen, tall, muscular, brilliant, and had thick blonde hair that reached her waist. Peter wasn't sure he'd ever met someone so effortlessly confident in his life. Kate was confident, sure, but she had her weak spots and her vanities. Torrun, on the other hand, genuinely had no insecurities—at the very least none that Peter had ever noticed. She was very much like Thor, and everyone loved her. Torrun, in turn, loved everyone. Although, Peter had to admit, she was loving Francis a bit too much for Kate's tastes at the moment. His sister's left hand was balled into a fist so tight her nails must be digging painfully into her palm as Torrun freely flirted with the archer. Torrun also flirted freely with James, but Kate seemed to take her words with Francis as a personal affront. Oh, Peter was not equipped to deal with relationship drama at Christmas.

He wandered away, hardly noticed, and took a seat on the couch (which had been returned to the penthouse on popular demand—the decorator had obviously not thought things through very well) next to Azari and Henry Pym. Azari was James' age, but he'd always been cool with Peter. Son of Black Panther and Storm, he had inherited electrical powers and had limited control over the weather. Peter had often been in awe of him as a kid—hell, he still was. Azari nodded to him as he sat down; a now decades old Christmas movie, _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ played on the television. Henry Pym grinned at him. Pym was a good kid, still just fourteen, and he seriously hero-worshipped Azari. Pym didn't have any innate powers or abilities, which was surprisingly common for Avengers kids. The others who didn't have any were Lyra and Brian Banner, all four Barton kids, and Danielle Cage. Well, actually, considering that Danielle was only two years old that was up for debate. Peter felt odd, having suddenly been kicked out of this smaller group of non-powered Avengers kids.

"Peter! Peter! Mom and Dad say you can stick to _anything_ is that true?" Pym asked, overly excited.

"Uh, well, yeah," Peter said. "I mean, haven't found anything I couldn't stick to yet."

"Prove it!" Lewis Barton, who was on the other couch with his brother Callum and Nathaniel Richards, practically bounced up and down in his seat. Lewis was only six, and Callum and Nathan, at 10 and 12 respectively, looked almost as enthusiastic.

"Uh, ok? What do you want me to stick to?" Peter asked.

"The ceiling!" Lewis insisted.

"Is that all?" Peter asked, standing up. He was in the mood to show off just a bit, so instead of climbing a wall, he jumped straight up, his hands landing flat on the ceiling as he pulled the rest of his body up. Of course, his feet were in shoes, so that made the position more difficult to maintain, but it was worth it to hear the _Wow!_s coming from below him. "See?" He jumped back down with a small _thump_.

"Can you stick to glass?" Callum asked.

"Anything means 'glass included', yeah," Peter said.

"Then I dare you to go out on the balcony and climb over to us from outside," Callum challenged. Peter looked out the window. It was, of course, free of any ledges; it was nothing but a sheet of wide glass, uninterrupted to allow for the best view. The balcony was on the other side of the penthouse, and they were 93 stories up—a thousand feet in the air. Peter had never been a fan of heights, but Callum had his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched and Peter had never felt a stronger desire to show up a ten year old.

"No problem," Peter said.

"You aren't serious," Azari commented. One of his eyebrows was raised, but it conveyed an entirely different meaning.

"I'm completely serious. Just watch," Peter said. He took off his shoes and socks and made for the balcony. Lucky for him, no one was outside. It was far too cold out for that. The wind blew and felt like a razor across Peter's skin. He touched his fingertips to the glass—it was cold as ice. Gritting his teeth, He put his other hand on the glass and then climbed on top of the balcony's railing with his feet. Slowly, ever so slowly, Peter moved both of his feet off the railing and onto the side of the building. He stuck. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and proceeded to crawl across the window.

Unfortunately, he hadn't thought of the fact that the various Avengers and friends would notice him crawling about outside. Rhodey stared as he quickly passed, Jessica Jones dropped her glass of wine. Bruce and Jane broke off their conversation. Peter crawled even faster, dizzy with adrenaline. He was a thousand feet in the air. When he glanced down, the people looked like ants, and the cars were even smaller than his _Hot Wheels_ toys. It was _exhilarating_. Yet also a bit terrifying. This would be a terrible time for him to lose his powers, and he had no way of catching himself if he slipped.

He finally made it over to the area with the couches. Peter could see Callum exclaim and hear his muffled voice.

"He did it! He did it! Guys, look at Peter!" the other kids were getting up off the couch to come and see, and in the distance Peter could see Kate, James, Francis and Torrun watching as well. Actually, half the room seemed to be watching. His hands, feet, and face were numb, but it was _so worth it_ to see their stunned expressions. His mother appeared in front of him so suddenly Peter nearly disengaged from the wall in surprise.

"PETER BENJAMIN ROGERS YOU GET BACK INSIDE THIS BUILDING _AT ONCE_," he could hear her oddly muted shouting though the glass. It almost sounded like she was underwater. Thoroughly cowed by her anger, Peter crawled back to the balcony and hopped back over the sides. He walked back inside, only to find his outraged mother barreling towards him. "WHAT IN THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? YOU COULD'VE FALLEN AND KILLED YOURSELF I NEVER THOUGHT YOU WOULD EVER BE SO RECKLESS ARE YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME AND YOUR FATHER A HEART ATTACK?"

"N-no," Peter stuttered. He had heard his mother yell before, of course, but she had never actually yelled at _him_. His mother closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath before continuing.

"Don't you _dare_ do that again until we've _properly_ tested the limits of your powers _and_ have a back-up system in case you slip or fall, you understand me?" she asked, fixing him with a hard stare.

"Y-yes, ma'am," Peter mumbled.

"Good," she said, then turned on her heel and went back to Pepper and Happy. The party, which had gone a bit quiet as Tony yelled, picked back up again. Kate came over to him, excitement in her eyes.

"Peter that was _wicked_," she said.

"Are we British now?" Peter asked dryly. Kate punched him in the arm.

"Shut up. That was amazing. I didn't ever figure you'd have the guts to do that," she said.

"Oh, gee, thanks, Kate," he said. She just rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm.

"Listen—we should talk. Not here. In the kitchen," she said.

"O-o-okay," Peter said skeptically as his sister dragged him away.

The kitchens weren't on the ninety-third floor, but rather on the ninety-second. They slipped down the private staircase, tucked away in a corner of the penthouse, and emerged into the kitchen. If Kate had wanted somewhere they could speak in private, she didn't get it. All of the Avengers and company from 199999 occupied the kitchen. Someone had brought or found a pack of cards, and they sat at the kitchen table playing—well, Peter thought it was poker until MCU (yeah, Peter had to admit that James' little nickname had stuck) Clint shouted,

"STOP KEMPS!" and Jane groaned whilst Thor looked confused. MCU Agent Hill was the first to notice Peter and Kate; or, at least she was the first to speak up about it.

"Oh, what are you two doing down here?"

"Uh, our mother owns the place? What are _you_ doing down—" Kate replied, but Peter stepped on her foot.

"Cookies. We're making cookies. You know. For Santa," Peter intervened. Agent Hill arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Aren't you both a little old for that?" she asked.

"Aren't you all a little old for _Kemps_?" Peter shot back. "And anyway there's a few kids upstairs who _aren't_ too old for that, so." Peter headed to the cabinet, getting out floor, sugar, a mixing bowl and some measuring spoons. Kate strolled along with his story, gathering eggs and butter and milk from the fridge. It took a few moments for the MCU Avengers to gather their wits about them, but then they started their game again, playing with a dampened enthusiasm. It was strange, Peter thought, to for once be the intruders rather than the intruded-upon. The Alts were obviously uncomfortable as Kate and Peter bickered comfortably about what kind of cookies to make. They eventually decided on chocolate chip—one couldn't go wrong with chocolate chip—and set out to making the batter. No conversation of note took place with the Alts while they were present, and Peter was surprised that Kate had gone along with his story and not headed back upstairs. When the first batch was put in the oven, Peter turned and watched the Alts for a second. They had switched from Kempsto Euchre at some point, though Peter was pretty certain that only Clint knew the rules and everyone else was just wandering baffled through the game.

"So what are you guys doing playing cards down here anyway? Party's upstairs," Peter said casually. This seemed to be the question they were dreading as several shoulders tensed.

"We didn't want to make things confusing," MCU Steve offered.

"I don't really think it would be that bad," Peter said. "If someone starts talking to you about something you don't understand, you just, you know, let them know you're Alts. Boom, problem solved." There was an awkward silence. "Or not, ok, whatever." The Alts lapsed into a slightly more comfortable silence as Kate and Peter waited for the first batch of cookies to be finished and spoke about innocuous things. After waiting through the third and final batch of cookies, Peter and Kate piled them onto a pair of plates and headed up the stairs.

"Ok but we still need to _talk_ somewhere," Kate murmured to him as they entered the penthouse once more. "Later tonight, 91st floor."

"Yeah ok," Peter agreed.

"Peter! I can't find Francis anywhere—Nicole's exhausted, but Steve needs to talk to me about a mission—would you mind setting her up in a bedroom downstairs?" Clint asked. The four-year-old had her head buried in her father's shoulder as he held her up.

"Sure," Peter said. "You want me to fetch her back when Dad starts _The Polar Express_?"

"That would be great, thanks Pete," Clint said, handing the little girl to him before rushing off. Nicole just looked up at Peter with wide blue eyes.

"I think it's testament to how little he trusts me now that he asked _you_ to take her," Kate said, genuinely hurt. "You barely _know_ her."

It was true, Peter had to admit. He'd only seen the little girl with curly blonde hair a handful of times outside the holidays. Kate, on the other hand, seemed to be at the Barton's every other weekend.

"Sorry," Peter said, not knowing what else to say.

"Whatever," she replied, still obviously stung. "I'm going to find Francis." She hurried off. Peter looked down at the little girl once more.

"You tired, kiddo?" Peter asked. Nicole just nodded and then buried her face in his shoulder just as she had done to her dad, her little arms clinging around his neck. "Ok, let's go find you a free bed." Peter wandered over to the elevator, riding it down to the 91st floor. He could be wrong, but he was pretty sure there was still a racecar bed down here somewhere…


	81. White Picket Fence

They couldn't decide on a new game of cards to play. They'd already run through poker and blackjack, had burned through Kemps and Euchre. Bruce had dryly suggested Go Fish, but no one wanted to put themselves through voluntary torture. They weren't at that point just yet. So they were sitting in silence, trying to think of a new game to play, when Clint spoke up.

"I feel kind of bad hiding down here," he said. "I know it's Tony's party and she's been so nice to us, I feel bad. But…she kept calling me Daddy. That little girl up there. She kept calling me Daddy. And then there were the two little boys, and they were calling me Dad and asking if I'd seen something—I don't know what—but—" Clint broke off and shook his head. "I feel rude but I don't want to go back up there." There was silence for a moment. Steve couldn't think of a thing to say. No one could. Until Bruce spoke up.

"I got misidentified, too," Bruce said sympathetically. "She's beautiful, their daughter. She's beautiful and bright and she laughs just like Betty. She thought I was him at first. But he knew—their son. Brian. He knew instantly. He's smart too. Dry wit. I like them both. Good kids, you can tell. They had them before—before everything. Good kids. Normal kids." He stopped.

"I have to wonder," Jane spoke next, "if we ever…if Thor and I…would she be like Torrun? Or would she _be_ Torrun? Is there some sort of universal directive? Some kind of _fate_? I don't understand it." She shook her head. "There's just so much—there's so much I don't understand."

"She's married," Pepper said in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible.

"James is still alive," Natasha said.

"It's not how I ever pictured it, but just add a white picket fence and a golden retriever, and it's everything I thought I'd be coming home to, after the war," Steve said, hollow.

Silence.

"The hell, did somebody slip us all truth serum?" Tony demanded.

But not even Tony Stark could break the mood. The Avengers sat in melancholy, listening to the happy music of people laughing upstairs.


	82. Neutralized

"Why did we have to meet now?" Natasha asked. She had left the card game swiftly upon receiving Coulson's text. The text alone was innocuous—_remember that mission in Brazil? This party makes me think of that. _They had been texting steadily so as not to raise suspicion when something was _actually_ a code, and on this occasion Natasha knew it was—_remember_ was the clue. Brazil meant coffee. The rest was to tell her to leave the party. So, explaining to her teammates she was going to get some air that didn't smell like perfect cookies, Natasha left the tower and headed across the street to the nearest Starbucks. Coulson was waiting at a table, cold coffee sitting in front of him, when Natasha took a seat.

"Because I know why they redacted the file on 525," Coulson said. Natasha knew him well enough to know that he was unnerved behind his impassive mask. Natasha felt dread building in her—it was the worst. She knew it. It was everything they'd feared.

"Just say it," Natasha said. Coulson nodded.

"They killed them. They killed them all."


	83. Four Things At Once

Four things happened at once. In the first, Kate, in her search, finally found Francis. She also inadvertently found Torrun, who was attached to his mouth. In the second, 3490 Tony and Steve were in an embrace, their lips about to touch. In the third, James clapped Peter on the back and congratulated him on his bravery for clinging to the side of Stark Tower. In the fourth, there was a violent explosion somewhere in the Tower.


	84. Run

"—no, Francis, I've had it! I hate you! You're just—you're just leading me on, you know that? I can't believe you, you must have been laughing it up, getting me to fall all over you—well _forget_ that you _asshole_—" Kate was in the middle of raging when a loud alarm sounded through the building. It was almost deafening, like a fire alarm but somehow even more urgent. Francis, Torrun, and Kate all knew what it was at once.

"Run?" Francis asked lightly, a note of stress in his voice.

"Run," Kate agreed. The three of them rushed to the nearest staircase.


	85. It's

"—just get to the staircases, let's get out as quickly as possible, a simple evacuation. Steve and I will investigate the explosion site. JARVIS isn't reporting any structural damage and no one should have been on that floor, so in all likelihood everyone is _fine_, please exit the building in an orderly fashion—" Tony was speaking into the intercom for the building. It might be the Avengers Annual Christmas Party, but there were also several Christmas parties on the lower floors—R&D workers without families, or some with who simply did not wish to see them, celebrated on other floors. Traditionally, Tony would take some time out to spend part of the evening with them as well, but it didn't look like that was going to exactly happen anytime soon.

"What the hell was it, Tony? Do you know?" Steve asked as the penthouse quickly emptied. Lewis was screaming and crying as his father tried to calm him down, but otherwise everyone seemed fine.

"Not a damn clue yet. JARVIS what floor was it on?" Tony asked.

"Eleven, Madam," JARVIS responded.

"Eleven?" Tony snapped. "The hell is on eleven that could blow up?"

"Maybe someone planted something," Steve suggested.

"Only one way to find out. Come on, Commander. Let's go investigate," Tony said, but as they were walking to the stairs, she froze in horror.

"Tony?" Steve asked anxiously. "Tony, do you know what it is?"

"No, but I have a theory," Tony said. "And if I'm right…" Tony ran back to the intercom and pressed it down. "Everyone, move _quickly_, as quick as you can. Don't hurt yourself or others but _get out of here now!_" She let go of the intercom and grabbed Steve by his arm, running to the launch pad.

"Tony?"

"Sorry, honey, we've got take a shortcut," she said. Her armor grew up out of her—a sight he would never truly get used to—and Steve grabbed on without question. She flew them down to the ground, where everyone had gathered. People were still flooding out, but as he saw the penthouse crew running outside, he relaxed. "Ok people, we need to back up. Get away from the building, as far as possible—"

"Tony, what's going on?" Steve demanded. Her fellow Avengers, surrounded by their children and families, looked at her expectantly.

"If I'm right, the building could blow up shortly," Tony said. "I don't know how much time—"

"Peter! Peter! Oh, God—Peter, did you get Nicole? Nicole, is she still in the building?" Clint asked, grasping Steve's son by the shoulders as a horrified expression suddenly came over both of their faces.

"I didn't—Oh, shit, I didn't think, I forgot—" Tony put down her faceplate and started to move away from the crowd to take off. Steve grabbed her metal-encased arm, about to argue that he should go, but Tony shook her head before he'd even spoken a word.

"I'm the fastest, I'll be right back," Tony assured him. It was true, she was the fastest. She could fly straight to the top. "Where is she, Peter?"

"The—James' old room in the tower, the one with the racecar bed—" he said, and Tony took off. Steve fumbled in his pocket for his comm. system, which he never went far without. He put it in his ear.

"Tony, can you hear me?"

"Copy that, Commander," Tony said as she landed on the balcony and disappeared inside the building. "Ok, running down the stairs now…through the kitchen, through the dining hall…more stairs…ok, your old floor…"

"Why did Mom go back inside the building?" Kate's voice popped up behind Steve. He turned to look at her.

"She's looking for—"

"_Nicole!_" Clint cried, stretching out his arms for his daughter, who was currently clinging to Kate. Kate readily handed her over. "Oh, thank God, Kate, thank you—"

"Tony, we found her, Kate had her, get out of there," Steve commanded. He didn't like this. He didn't like that she wouldn't tell him exactly what was wrong. She was quiet over the comm. for a moment.

"Steve I think there's someone in the building," she said quietly.

"_Get out of there!_" Steve demanded.

"I will, I will, but first—I think he went this way—"

"Who? _Who_, Tony? What are you doing? Just get out!" Steve shouted.

"I—Oh, oh, God," she breathed. "Oh, God—Steve it's—" She was shouting into the mic at that point, but a moment later it didn't matter because she never finished her sentence. Flames burst out of the windows of the ninety-first story, throwing glass to the street as SI employees and the families of the Avengers screamed and scrambled to get out of the way.

"TONY!" Steve screamed into the comms, but there was no answer. Half a second later, a second explosion rocked the whole building. There was a horrible creak of metal and the sound of glass shattering over and over again as the entire building began to collapse in on itself in a great display of fire and smoke. They were running now. They were all running, but Steve was frozen to the spot. He started forward, but a hand on his bicep jerked him backwards.

"DON'T BE INSANE!" Bucky screamed over the chaos, and then they were both running, running away from the tower as the whole building came down in slow motion.

There were plenty of things Steve should have been thinking at that moment. He should have been wondering who could have done this, should have been wondering what Tony was going to say, should have been doing his best to help the other Avengers send warning to civilians in the other buildings and evacuate them in an orderly fashion, should have been holding his numb and horrified children, but there was, in fact, only one thing that Steven Grant Rogers was thinking that awful Christmas Eve.

_Tony_.

**End of Part One**


End file.
